


Bits & Pieces

by sunaddicted



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Gotham (TV), Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, James Bond (Craig movies), London Spy, Sherlock (TV), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Character Death, Character Study, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Gore, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multi, Slice of Life, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 74
Words: 40,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: BOND/LONDON SPY FANDOMS: chapters 1 - 30TOLKIEN FANDOM: chapters 31 - 64GOTHAM FANDOM: chapters 65 - 69MISC FANDOMS: chapters 70 - 74





	1. 00qad (fluff)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been clearing out my tumblr and I found 40k worth of drabbles and fics I never posted on here because I let people's standards make me think they weren't good enough for ao3. 
> 
> For warnings, please read the note at the top of every chapter ♡

"You're clearly doing it wrong" Q unhelpfully pointed out from where he was perched on the kitchen table, sucking on some kind of candy that smelled of synthetic strawberry and swinging his feet like a child "That's not how Danny does it"

James sighed heavily and glared at the brown sludge merrily bubbling away on the stove, steadily reminding himself that MI6 wouldn't have appreciated it if he strangled their Quartermaster "Why don't you do it yourself then?"

Alex's voice came from the living room before Q could take the bait and jump off the table to near the stove "You know he's been banned from using any kitchen appliances but the electric kettle"

"I know how to make some bloody hot chocolate" Q huffed, crunching the last of his candy under his molars in an irritatingly loud way that made James cringe.

"Just like you knew how to make pancakes?" James retaliated, spoon dipping in the concoction to give it a stir.

Q blushed red and seemed to fluff up like one of his cats when in a hissy fit "It wasn't my fault! Batter isn't supposed to explode"

"Exactly my point"

"Could you stop bickering like stroppy children missing their mum?" Alex sighed from the kitchen door, arms crossed across his chest and a book about incomprehensible maths dangling from his hand.

"Would that make you our daddy?" James teased, icy-blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Q rolled his eyes before turning his attention on Alex "Where's Danny anyway? He should know better than to leave us to our own devices" A pout quivered on his lips, shining with sticky sugar.  "He's got a life besides babysitting MI6 operatives" Alex strode to the table and tugged Q onto a chair, refraining from reminding him the tabletop wasn't made to be sitting upon: he wasn't in the mood to deal with a high on sugar Quartermaster intent on being as whiny as humanly possible "Come on you two, let's get some hot chocolate from the coffee house around the corner" he encouraged, leaning in to turn the stove off and politely avoiding to tell James that yes, as Q had pointed out, he was doing it wrong.

"I don't want hot chocolate"  

"But I do!"  

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose in an unusual display of tiredness "I'll go buy you hot chocolate if you two promise me to stay away from the kitchen and not kill each other"  

"Of course, love" Q purred, lovingly kissing his cheek as he made his way towards the living room, appropriating the remote for himself before James could join him and start claiming choosing rights about what they should watch. 

Alex wordlessly observed James gracefully drop his gorgeous body next to Q's sprawled figure with a frown already forming on his forehead as his pale irises took in the documentary about penguins the younger man had settled on; mentally shaking his head, Alex escaped their flat before the impending argument exploded, his fingers already tapping on the touchscreen of his mobile Danny's number.  

He immediately answered "What's wrong?" Danny asked with barely concealed worry.  

"They're driving me mad" Alex complained, a sulking tone in his voice that he would forever denying ever emitting.  

Danny's laughter was cheery and crystalline, echoed by the twinkling of ice against glasses and billiards being played: clearly, he was having fun and Alex felt a bit bad about bothering him to whine about their lovers "Just shag them" Danny suggested good-naturedly.  

"I can't handle the two of them alone" Alex entered the coffee house and thanked all the gods he didn't believe in that there wasn't anyone waiting to order and asked for a takeaway hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon and dotted with tiny marshmallows - the barman definitely didn't look at him as if he was barking mad.  

"Shouldn't be James the one afraid of not being able to satisfy two younger men in his bed?" Danny joked lightly, his voice as warm as the aroma of the hot chocolate being made.   

"When the day comes that James won't boast about his sexual prowess, I'll go to light a candle in church"   

“You love it"  

Alex sighed "I do" There was no other rational reason why he put up with James otherwise. And he also loved Q, despite his childishness and  nasty vindictive streak. 

"I'll see you in a couple of hours, hoping to find home still habitable. Kisses"  

"Kisses" Alex sighed and rung off, just in time to accept the cardboard cup filled with hot chocolate and pay.   

When he entered the living room, he really shouldn't have been surprised to find Q riding James as if his life depended on it while the documentary droned on. Alex observed them for a few seconds, quickly deciding that the hot chocolate could be reheated in the microwave, and joined them on the couch.


	2. 00qad (fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Christmas blues on James' part

Alex stealthily walked out of the kitchen with long and sleek strides, munching on a gingerbread cookie and thoroughly feeling like a misbehaving child who wouldn't wait for the biscuits to cool down and immediately steal them; he had never done something similar - he had never eaten homemade gingerbread biscuits. As he swallowed down the last bite, Alex's eyes took in the way James was slumped on the sofa, a deep furrow in the middle of his forehead and his eyes crinkled at the corners in deep concentration, a finger following the rim of a tumbler filled with whiskey. He sat down next to him, enveloping an hand around his knee in silent comfort: he understood the heavy cloud of sadness that weighed down James during the festive season, the way his mind obsessed over the few memories he would still have of his parents celebrating Christmas together and giving him presents "Q has made a mess of the kitchen"  

"He always does" James answered, briefly glancing up at Alex and thinly smiling at him before going back to staring into the amber-hued depths of his drink as if trying to find something he had lost; it was more calming than looking into the other's man keen irises, hellbent on unravelling his thoughts and easily read his mind.  

Alex quietly acknowledged James' desire of privacy and tentatively closed the space between them, resting his head on his shoulder and subtly inhaled the scents of gunpowder and expensive cologne clinging to his tanned skin; he always feared of resulting too needy when in James' company, intimidated by the coldness seeping from his muscled frame - it was an irrational fear: James had held him in his arms and kissed his mouth as fervently as Q and Danny did "Someone should teach him how to cook"  

"If Danny hasn't managed yet, it means that Q is a lost cause" James pointed out with a trace of hilarity in his deep voice while trailing a digit along the edge of Alex's hairline before slipping his fingers in his soft, chocolate-colored waves in a tender caress; all of his lovers seemed to be particularly sensitive when it came to their hair being petted and James was never averse about indulging them.   

Alex sighed deeply, pleasure simmering softly under the sensitive skin of his scalp "True" he agreed "It's ridiculous, though: a grown man unable to even make himself a plate of scrambled eggs"  

"If he could, Q would live entirely on tea, sweets and takeaway" Before James had started dating Q, the young quartermaster had often forgotten to eat and had claimed that a packet of vinegar-spiced crisps constituted an adequate meal for a man in his thirties; removing those filthy and unhealthy habits from his mind had been a long and gruelling work for James, who had spent the first months of their relationship popping in Q-branch only to bring Q some balanced meals. Luckily, now he also had Alex and Danny helping him feeding Q "I don't understand why: he actually likes eating"  

Alex hummed "He likes working more" he mumbled as his eyelids slipped close, bliss and contentment rushing through his veins.   

James dropped a kiss on his forehead and snorted when he felt a set of paws gracefully landing on him and a fluffy head bump against his stomach, requesting some petting. As he looked down to get rid of his glass, he saw that it was Pampuria - the vaguely obese white Persian - demanding cuddles and groaned at the idea of having white hairs all over his suit "You're a meanie" He pouted.   Pampuria scrunched up its nose and mewled displeased; James was ready to bet on his career in MI6 that Danny had taught to the bloody cats how to understand English. 

"Stop talking to the cats: you sound like Q" Q was the official crazy cat lady in their relationship, who would spend hours petting those little monsters and cooing over them like a mother lovestruck by her children.   

James huffed and bent his head down to shut Alex up with a kiss, his tongue tracing those soft and plump lips in a way that clearly asked for permission to plunder his mouth. The other man promptly granted him access, welcoming him in the slick warmth of his moist cavern that still tasted of stolen biscuits; the heavy tang of whiskey and the crisp taste of gingerbread mixed on their taste buds and drew an appreciative groan from both of the men "Did you steal the cookies from under our lovers' noses, Mr. Turner?"  

Hearing James calling him by his surname with that honey-dripping voice made a deep blush blossom under Alex's skin "Are you planning to tell them, Mr. Bond?"  

"There's no need" Q voice was playfully stern and as the spies looked up at him, they saw a gleeful grin painted on his lips "Really Alex, stealing the biscuits is something I imagined James would do" he said as he bent down to retrieve a still huffing Pampuria in his arms and sat down in James' lap, long and spidery fingers scratching the cat in between its ears and his head resting against James' chest, close to Alex's face.   

"Where's Danny?"  

"Still in the kitchen"  

"Oohh, did he finally evict you?" James teased.  

Q harrumphed, immediately backed by Pampuria's hissing  "It's not my fault the decorating thing wouldn't work" 

"You made the pastry bag explode, didn't you?" Alex sighed fondly while James' laughter shook them.   

"It clearly was defective" Q sniffed.  

"Or maybe it's you, who's defective" Danny quipped in.   

Alex looked up and smiled at him, taking in the smudge of flour whitening his cheek "Come here, love"  

Danny quickly cuddled into Alex's side and leaned in to kiss James' stubbled cheek; the rich scent of whiskey made worry sink its sharp claws in his lungs - James mostly drank when he was upset - but he squashed it, thinking that probably Alex had already done something to uplift their lover's spirits "I love you" Three different voices echoed him warmly, making Danny dizzy with happiness: it had been a very long time since he has enjoyed Christmas and he felt so blessed at having the possibility of spending it with three men he adored so much. He wanted James to be as happy as he was but Alex, who was basically experiencing a real Christmas for the first time, and Q, whose mother still sent him the most awful presents and tender cards, had explained him how James probably missed his parents during the festivities; he couldn't understand, not really: just like Q, he had had a normal childhood and his parents had loved him before he had come out to them - and for that reason he would make sure that year after year, they gave James some good memories to hold on to and make Christmas a better time of the year for him.


	3. 00qad (nsfw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Eve and Tanner spying on them

“You shouldn’t be spying on them” Tanner disapprovingly muttered in Eve’s ear, glancing at the laptop monitor on which she was viewing the footage from the security cameras in 007’s rarely used and dusty office - probably the reason why the four lovers had decided to hide in there for their.. Tryst.

  
Eve playfully smacked him away, glittering eyes focused on the screen as if afraid to don’t catch something while looking away “I’m curious to know how they make it work” she admitted, elegantly shrugging “And they shouldn’t do this in HQ if they don’t want to be seen”

  
Tanner had to concede the point and sat next to her: not that he was interested in seeing the four men shagging but he would never turn down blackmail material “Tell me the audio feed is unavailable” he pleaded.

  
“You’re no fun” Eve laughed but turned the audio feed off: she wasn’t that curious (and she already knew what filthy sounds the Quartermaster and his spy made during sex - as did all of Q-branch, probably).

  
Danny childishly hopped on the desk, uncaring of the paperwork crinkling under his ass and swinging his feet. Soon Q joined him, looking like his much more evil twin with his know-it-all smirk plastered all over his lips.   
Eve really couldn’t blame James and Alex for looking at the two minxes with hunger in their cold irises; even if she had never felt an ounce of attraction towards them, she wasn’t blind and could easily see the appeal in their lean and almost androgynous bodies: they made an ethereal picture, one that the two agents probably couldn’t wait to wreck with their scorching passion.

  
Danny’s head dropped onto Q’s shoulder and his mouth started a trail of nibbles and licks upwards the other’s long and bared neck while keeping his eyes fixed on their lovers, inviting them to step closer.

  
James’ stride was broad and confident and so were the rough and calloused fingers that buried themselves in Q’s unruly curls, tilting his head in a better angle for kissing just as Danny’s tongue reached the Quartermaster’s bottom lip.

  
“We shouldn’t be watching this” Tanner commented, his voice wavering in a clear display of how uncomfortable the situation was making him.

  
Seemingly completely unfazed, Eve shushed him and studied Alex’s more elegant and tender approach “I think Turner could be even a better lover than Bond” she observed, her mind quickly taking in the way the other three reacted to that controlled touch.

  
Danny slid behind Q’s back, his arms sneaking around the other’s waist in what looked like a strangling embrace and his head bent forward to kiss James, both of their tongues wetly stroking Q’s.

Danny’s replacement suddenly made sense when Alex sat next to the Quartermaster and angled his head just so he could join the kiss, his broad hand splayed against James’ scalp as if to beckon him closer.

  
“What the hell are you doing?” M inquired, intruding himself in between Eve and Tanner to have a look at the monitor, eyes comically widening as he took in the scene playing on the screen “Shouldn’t it be against the law of physics?!”

  
“Apparently not” Eve unhelpfully commented, pupils following Danny’s sneaky hand grabbing Alex’s muscled ass and squeezing it appreciatively.

  
M was frozen for a few seconds before he snapped the laptop shut “One of you two go and tell them to shag somewhere that isn’t bloody MI6” he ordered before disappearing, muttering about the stupidity of double-0 agents under the thrall of their lovers.

  
“I’m not going” Tanner immediately claimed “It was your idea after all”

  
“I’m not going either! I don’t want to be killed!” Eve hissed, hinting at Alex’s and James’ possessive streaks.

  
“Killed by whom?” 006’s curious voice interrupted their bantering, keen eyes already looking for a threat but only seeing his colleagues.

  
Eve grinned broadly: the right man for the job had, for once, had the decency to drop in when most convenient “Trevelyan! Could you be a dear and go tell your partner in crime that M’s pissed at him?”

  
Tanner shook his head, a mixture of relief and pity dancing in his eyes as he watched 006 go to his death.

  
“Come on, we all know Bond won’t kill him - maybe he’ll not even harm him too badly” Eve patted her friend on a shoulder before opening the laptop once again “Wanna watch?”


	4. 00qad (angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Once Q had told James his past was haunted by many unforgiving ghosts and that had been the primary reason to accept the title of Quartermaster, despite his reluctance to work for an institution; being swallowed dry in the relentless machine that was MI6 had granted him protection and anonymity, the safety of hiding behind a letter and theoretically untraceable laptops to keep doing what he liked the most: coding, hacking, creating. The fondness for his country had been a feeling that had slowly blossomed in his mind, almost undetected by his consciousness: he had never been a patriot like James, his brain couldn’t conceive such a deep devotion towards a country.

  
Both James and Alex had been confused by his stance, but had respected his views.

  
Danny had mostly agreed with him, but Q thought it was mainly because Danny perceived MI6 as a cruel mistress that kept his lovers away from him and in constant danger - not such a wrong metaphor.

  
Q shook slightly as the ghost grinned at him, looming over his chair and peered at his puffy features, bloated purple and sickly green by bruises; it was ironic, the idea of his face being so broken while his glasses sat untouched on his nose, the lenses barely smudged: they wanted him to see his lovers approaching to save him, ignorant of the snipers waiting for them.

  
If Q could have talked in their ear wigs, he would have berated them for running to his rescue without a thought to Danny - sweet and caring Danny, how could they leave him alone when the possibility of all the three of them dying was so high?

  
“Save them, at least” his own brain whispered hurriedly, reminding him of the exploding capsule in his molar; he had switched it from the cyanide one, after seeing what it had done to Silva - Q wanted the certainty of dying and the reassuring possibility of bringing someone to hell with him. Plus, his watch exploded too and he couldn’t wait to bring the whole building down before James and Alex were too near.

  
Longingly, Q observed their frowning faces on the screen; they were gorgeous, even as worry and pain distorted their features, and Q was amazed that such perfect and deadly creatures were in love with him. Once he had his fill of the two agents, Q searched his mind for memories of Danny and smiled as an image of his youngest lover blossomed on the back of his lowered eyelids; Danny’s projection was grinning shyly, lips shining pink with the sticky sugar of strawberry-flavored lollies and irises twinkling merrily under his messy curls.

  
Q didn’t want to leave them, he didn’t want them to feel the pain of his loss when they had all already gone through so much. But he knew James and Alex couldn’t save him - they were damn good but not immortal - and Danny needed them in his life.

  
Q opened his eyes for the last time and laughed before biting down hard on the capsule while he activated the timed bomb in his wrist watch.

  
“I’m sorry” was his last thought “I love you”


	5. 00qad (angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tanner's pov

Bill Tanner, despite having been involved into the messy business of espionage for more than a half of his life, wasn’t a nosy person - quite the opposite to Eve, who believed her right to go snooping in her friends’ lives in a twisted display of caring that dangerously bordered on the stalking habits of the Double-Ohs. He knew what was enough to be a good Chief of Staff, which admittedly was more than a normal person would know about their colleagues, but he never exploited his position to unearth secrets about MI6 employees; he had found a likely-minded being in Q who, with his frightening control on anything electronic, could have had disgusting amounts of blackmail material if he felt more inclined about spying on everyone.

  
This somewhat abnormal disposition didn’t mean that he was blind, though. Bill prided himself of having a sharp eye for details and an uncanny ability to connect even the loosest points into a clever design, using the clues to lift the thin veil of deception and uncover reality; it was an ability that he tended to tone down around his friends, valuing their trust and confidence more than the hidden depths they may harbour in their souls, and only in rare cases he would betray his own rule - a necessary allowance to his morals when it came to Queen and Country.

  
He started unconsciously noticing a pattern, often disrupted and shaky at best but undeniably there: the fish tank that Q’s office was would darken and become inscrutable, usually an handful of minutes before either James Bond and/or Alex Turner sauntered in without knocking; it wouldn’t have been that strange if Q didn’t take care of hiding behind shadowed glass only when those particular agents came to visit - not always for reporting after a mission but also in their downtime, everytime scaring the minions half to death. The visits had variable length - sometimes they would last barely a couple of minutes while others dragged for hours, obliging the Q-Branchers to interrupt their meeting to ask for their leader - and when they came out from the room, their faces were as blank as when they had entered.

Even the office looked in order when Q finally turned the glass clear again after a couple of minutes the agents had departed, not a dent in the usually organised disorder on the Quartermaster’s desk or things carelessly dropped to the ground - something that likely ruled wild and kinky sex out of the list of possibilities.

  
It was worrisome: what could a genius able to hack basically into every system and a couple of agents with the licence to kill be doing enclosed in an office? Bill knew they were friends, even if the first meeting between Bond and Turner hadn’t been particularly amicable, and that Q enjoyed chatting with his agents and taking part in some of their shenanigans around MI6 - the paintball war being something headquarters wouldn’t forget any time soon - but it didn’t explain the secretiveness of the whole business.

  
It made Bill’s senses twitch uncomfortably, making him itch for the truth. So, he tuned in on his agent self and started to carefully watch the trio, never letting the deceitful mask of harmless executive fall from his face.

  
Q took the tube to go home, when there weren’t any emergencies and people managed to pry him from his projects, but he got off just after two stops, considerably far from his flat.

  
Alex changed into his customary jogging attire and run home, pointing out that he needed to keep in shape, but he ducked into a park not far from MI6 and waited jumping from one foot to another to keep himself warm.

  
James climbed in his car, making the engine purr aggressively under its bonnet and speeded through London traffic, only to abruptly stop at a shadowed corner.

  
Q and Alex always climbed into the car, coming from different sides of the street and grinning like loons, taking their sweet time to make James annoyingly flash the high beams and prompt them to speed up their strides.

  
Bill watched that routine happen for a month, memorising the variations that depended on whether they all were in MI6 and whether they all went home.

  
When Bill spotted the shadow of a fourth man in the car one evening, he knew it was time to follow them wherever they went and discover what they were plotting, trying to squash the feeling of delusion and sadness weighing down in his stomach: moles and agents turning rogue hardly were novelty, spies were as human as anyone else and bound to fall prey of seductive opportunities and error. He wore different clothed from those his colleagues had seen that day, opting for darker shades and a more comfortable style that he usually didn’t parade at work, preferring his sharp suits to walk into MI6, and followed them with the CCTV, waiting to see their destination before powering his personal laptop down and climbing into a car that was legally owned by a businessman living in Liverpool and that nobody in headquarters had ever seen: he turned into a shadow, stealthily following its targets.

  
The house the four men seemed to live in all together; from the windows Bill had spotted an insane amount of shoes by the door and that kind of chaos that was inevitably produced by a lot of people sharing the same living space; his eyes had followed Q, Alex, James and the stranger - who looked so similar to Q that Bill had to shake the chills out of his spine - glide together in and out of the kitchen, speaking gleefully to one another and casually touching each other as they reached for items to dress the table, clearly going through familiar motions. He wasn’t too surprised when he witnessed them freely distribute kisses and hugs between the four of them, equally pouring their love on each other with a mindlessness that spoke about a long-consolidated relationship; it wasn’t a common kind of relationship to stumble upon, but Bill couldn’t help noticing how it suited the four men who frizzled with happiness and peace.

  
Bill’s lungs were slowly being choked by a strange jealousy climbing its way up to his throat to close it while relief simmered in the back of his mind. With a last glance at the lovers sitting around an almost too small table loaded with simple food and takeaway cartons retrieved from the massive fridge, Bill turned his back to them and slithered in the darkness, back to his biting loneliness.


	6. 00qad (angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James ruins everything good that happens to him

“James, stop brooding like a Byronic hero and come here with us!” Q shouted from the living room where he was sprawled on the sofa with Danny, Alex and the cats.   
James ignored him and kept sipping his coffee, since Danny had banned any consumption of alcohol in the afternoon, and rereading for he nth time the newspaper.

  
Danny’s loud huff could be heard clearly even if they were in different rooms and it was immediately followed by the pattering of his feet against the hardwood floor “James you’re never home: come to spend some time with us” he pleaded, tenderly caressing a muscled shoulder and frowning at the steely tension under the soft material of the shirt: had James been injured and didn’t go to Medical?

  
James sighed and shrugged the hand away, innerly rebelling at the loss of contact with his lover - different parts of his mind were at war with each other and it was giving James the worst headache ever “Go back to your movie”

  
Danny listened to him, going back to an extremely worried Alex and a scowling Q; he sat himself between them, soaking up their warmth and watching the TV screen - his eyes saw nothing as his mind focused on the tension slowly polluting their home.

  
James finished the drink in his mug and put it in the sink - he knew Q was mad at him: there was no need to make him even angrier - before going in the hall and shrugging on his jacket “I’m going out for a breather” he said, barely glancing towards his lovers to avoid the irrational stabbing of jealousy that inevitably hit him everytime he witnessed Q being loving with Alec and Danny - which made him feel rotten, because he loved them too.

  
“Take your mobile with you, please” Alex’s smile was strained at the corners of his lips.   
“And be safe” Danny added, blowing him a tender kiss.

  
Q was as silent as a grave, irises stubbornly glued to the pixels on the screen - it was his fault, James knew it: he would loose Q because of the paranoid thought of his boffin loving their other two partners more and stayed with him just because of habit.

  
James knew he was the one driving Q away; he walked out of the house and stomped on the pavement to channel his pained rage - why did he always spoil everything good that happened to him?


	7. 00qad (angst, nsfw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q is forced to commit treason to protect his lovers

Q stood in front of his laptop and impassively watched Alex and James lock in a tight and almost desperate embrace, fingernails digging into honed muscles and powerful thighs rubbing together, aided in their sliding by the smooth cascade of warm water coming from the shower head - if Q didn’t know that James had risked almost not coming back from his mission in Ukraine, he would have believed they were putting on a show for him in a vain attempt at tempting him back home.

  
Q ignored the ominous presence of his boss at his side and kept watching; Danny joined the two agents, his pale and slender arms clinging to James’ hips as he hugged him from behind, squashing his pointy cheekbone in the bruise blooming over James’ shoulderblade and squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears of relief from spilling down that tanned and scarred back.

  
They offered a picture well-known to Q, one in which he had taken part often - long before he realised they were better off without him.   
Absentmindedly, Q popped a sleeping pill in his mouth and swallowed it dry as his former lovers got reacquainted with each other, subtly making sure they all were alright with strategically probing caresses and cautious kisses. His sad jade-green irises took in the unhurried and tender way they raced after their orgasms, ready to bask all together in the afterglow.

  
Q waited for them to collapse one against the other, panting and satisfied, before turning the laptop off - the mute parody of a whispered goodnight.

  
“I promised you they wouldn’t die if you collaborate: you don’t need to constantly check on them” his boss pointed out, a cruel smirk playing over his thin mouth.

  
Q just met his eyes and held their gaze for a minute before shrugging and sliding in his cold and small bed, cocooning himself under the blankets and keeping his back to his captor turned employer. He let his sobs free from the prison of his heaving lungs only when he heard the soft click of the door being closed, signalling him the blissful emptiness in his room; he missed them so much - Danny’s tenderness and goofiness, Alex’s obsessions with order and analytical mind, James’ bad temper and flirtatious attitude: they had completed him in a way that had made him a whole and functional human being. Left to his devices, Q focused himself on the work - even if it was a traitor’s work - and forgot about anything else.

  
But they had deserved better - they had deserved each other and there was no place for him amidst them.

  
Sleep forced his mind to shut down but the tears didn’t stop soaking the pillow - they never would.   
  



	8. 00qad (fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danny's birthday

“Happy birthday, Danny” Alex whispered sweetly, almost shyly compared to Q’s and James’ barely contained enthusiasm.

  
Danny blushed a pale shade of rose under the silvery light of the moon, veiled by wispy clouds that danced like shimmering shrouds in the wind, and hummed a thank you “Close your eyes” he encouraged, squeezing his own shut with childish concentration.

  
Alex did so without protest, hugging the young man closer to his chest.

  
“Why?” James shuffled closer and slotted his blond head in between Alex’s neck and shoulder, where the timid scent of his cologne was stronger and pleasantly tickled his nose.

  
“Just close them” Q sighed and let himself be wrapped against James’ side, his legs tangling together with Danny’s, and shivered in pleasure as warmth flooded his aching muscles “For once in your life, follow an order”

  
Danny giggled and kissed James’ mouth, tasting the icing of the cake they had bought for his birthday on his smooth lips; as a natural reaction to the kiss, James let his eyelids fall closed on his icy-blue irises.

  
“Imagine a shower of falling stars and make a wish” Danny whispered, almost ashamed of his words.

  
Q laughed tenderly “My grandmother was convinced of being a seer” He buried his nose behind James’ ear and fluttered a kiss on the sensitive and hot skin stretched there “She said my one true love would tell me to look at the stars with my third eye” he snorted, remembering the weird and plump woman who had often sat him down on a musty old armchair with a cup of tea; they would waste their afternoons predicting the future on fraying tarots and praying to the family ancestors in front of a shabby temple erected in a corner of the living room, voluptuous ghosts of incense plummeting around them.

  
“Really?” Alex smiled while picturing stars falling upon them, searching deep in his soul for something more to wish for: he already had anything he could have wanted in life - those men clustered around him on an old and humid duvet, shivering for the cold under a surprisingly crystal clear sky.

  
“I would have loved to get to know her”  Danny stretched his limbs “And she was right, in the end”

  
James hummed a question low in his throat “She was?”

  
“Yeah” Danny shrugged and wished for his lovers’ safety to the stars falling in his mind landscape “We’re Q’s true loves, aren’t we?”

  
“Meant to be” Alex muttered, repeating the words that had so often left Danny’s mouth. He squeezed his eyes tighter, making sure no light passed, and wished for them being real.

  
“Predestination is an amusing concept” James mused, doubt seeping through his words while Q’s weight slumped heavier against him, as if to silently agree with his scepticism “I wish for more evenings like these”

  
“You’re not supposed to say it out aloud” Q pointed out, grinning so widely that his facial muscles hurt with the effort.

  
Danny laughed, high-pitched and pure in the dark “It’s the thought that counts. What do you wish for, Q?” he inquired.

  
Forever, Q thought “I can’t tell. But I certainly wish you more and happier birthdays to come”


	9. 00q (angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GORE

Organic matter, non better identified  
 _(he has identified it, of course, he just doesn’t want the conscious part of his brain to take stock of the reality dripping from his fingers in sticky clumps stinking of rust_ )  
splattered to the floor, looking dramatically red in contrast with the white tiles  
( _as white as his stained skin, mottled with blood where the clothes haven’t been able to shield him from the spray of an artery torn open_ ).

  
He brought his trembling fingers to his face and carefully took off his glasses, folding them   
( _like the body in front of him, resembling one of those pretzels his lover likes to munch upon while they’re having brightly coloured cocktails after work with their colleagues - a rainbow diluted in alcohol_ )   
and slid them into the pocket of his baby blue shirt with a sharp flick of his wrist that spoke of experience.

  
“What have you done?” his lover enquired, his usually calm voice verging on hysteria   
( _it doesn’t make sense: his lover knows this kind of violence, has built his core of stainless steel around it - a beast imprisoned in the iron cage of his mind_ )   
and eyes wildly looking around, as if trying to avoid even glancing at the corpse that had already started to stink up the air.

  
“What have you done?” his lover repeated himself   
_(it’s rather uncharacteristic - his lover is used to commandeering the attention of a whole room just walking in it: it’s not everyday that one of his questions goes unanswered_ )   
and took a wavering step closer, his hands making grabby motions as if he wanted to just shake the answer out of him, dislodging it from his vocal chords.

  
“Q, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

  
“I don’t know” the answer came out as thin as ice threatening to crack under the feet of an unwise child skating over the slick surface, shiny like diamonds under the winter sun “I don’t know, James”

  
( _he knows, of course, he just doesn’t want to admit that his mind is breaking down, glitching like a badly-typed string of code_ )   
  



	10. 00q + hannigram (crack)

It was a rare thing that James managed to coax his workaholic husband out of his realm for lunch and so, he was determined to enjoy their unexpected outing despite the fact he hadn’t his best suit on and that he had never sampled anything from the restaurant Q had decided to eat in - decision mainly based on the establishment proximity to MI6.

  
“What is this? French?” Q asked, burying his face in the menu and squinted at the overly fancy font, getting distracted by the way the letters curled in graceful swirls.

  
James nudged his husband’s head to the side a bit and absentmindedly pushed the other’s hipster glasses up the bridge of his nose as he studied the menu “Yes, do you want me to order for you?” he murmured, turning his face to the side to kiss Q’s cheek - it was still smooth, despite the hour.

  
A blush blossomed under Q’s pale skin as he nodded and kissed James’ sharp-edged jaw: despite having been married for some years, he still hadn’t gotten used to his husband’s sweet and tender behaviour whenever they were together and away from MI6 employers’ eyes “Thank you, I’d like something warm”   
“Noted” James grinned as he laced their hands together under the table, a thumb smoothing over the warm white gold of the wedding ring he had gotten Q.

  
Neither of them noticed the man studying them from a secluded table. He was fidgeting with his glasses, lenses fogged over by the vapours of a curiously smelling tea sitting in front of him: he observed the couple almost greedily, taking in the love and warmth that came off of them in thick waves and that managed to soothe over his nerves, still a bit frayed after the whole fall-from-the-cliff debacle.

  
After gathering some courage, Will stood up and went to them “My husband would probably recommend the Kidney Pie with this weather” he offered after clearing his throat “He’s the chef” he added as an afterthought, realising that his recommendation would appear creepy without that bit of information.

  
Q looked up, his fingers instinctively tightening in a reassuring manner around his husband’s, immediately trying to calm down his fight-or-flight reaction “Thank you, that sounds lovely"

  
“I can take your orders: our waitress is new and she’s still trying to get the hang out of this” Will apologised, nodding his head towards the young girl attending to another table.

  
James peered suspiciously at the - admittedly - harmless looking man; he reminded him a bit of Q with his untidy curls and too big glasses, but his demeanour belied nervousness “The loin with the Cumberland sauce of red fruits for me, thank you” he ordered, handing the other the menu.   
“Will you be eating dessert too?” Will asked with a more eased smile, glad that the two men didn’t seem to be too disgruntled by the fact he had disturbed them.

  
Q looked inquiringly at James “Do you want to share one? No wine, though: I have to go back to work later”

  
James hummed in agreement  “I’ve spotted the Sanguinaccio Dolce on the menu?”

  
“Yes, my husband and I have been in Italy and he became enamoured with their desserts” Will confirmed and bowed his head once before striding towards the kitchen.

  
As soon as they were alone, Q turned a sultry glance to the agent sitting next to him “You’re too sexy for your own good when you say something in a foreign language”

  
A satisfied grin was James’ only response. They chatted until their dishes arrived and the agent frowned down at the particular way Q’s kidney pie was presented: the little mask-like shaped crust tickled something at the back of his mind, but he didn’t say anything and enjoyed the meal.

  
Until the so called chef walked up to them with his nervous looking husband, holding in his hands a crystal bowl filled with their desserts and James felt even Q take in a sharp breath “Holy fuck”

  
Hannibal let out a warm satiny chuckle “That’s one of the most colourful compliments I have ever received”

  
“You’re Hannibal the Cannibal” Q let out in a horrified whisper.

  
Will laughed nervously while he looked at the younger man’s threatening husband “Shit”

 


	11. 00qad (fluff)

Q wasn’t surprised when his mobile rang absurdly early in the morning of a Sunday, when he was supposed to snuggle in the familiar embrace of his lovers and sleep the morning away while basking in their warmth - or, at least, until someone put the kettle on and the scent of tea started to awaken his synapses.

  
“If they need an agent, tell them to call someone else” Alex mumbled, burying his face in Danny’s neck who made a displeased noise at the idea of his lovers being called into work; he was echoed by Turing’s grunting as it nestled deeper in Alex’s hair, its tail curling over Danny’s face.

  
James just grumbled and turned his back to Q in an attempt at ignoring the trilling of the mobile, burrowing in the soft sheets and dozing off again even as Pampuria defiantly climbed atop him, claiming James’ muscled side as its perch.

  
Q caressed James’ back in quiet apology before slipping out of the covers and answering the mobile “Hello, grandma” he greeted as he tiptoed to the living room; Q curled on the couch with a soft blanket and settled comfortably to listen to his grandmother’s soothing voice - despite her weirdness, Q loved how calming she could be on his nerves and smiled to himself “How are you?”

  
“I’m definitely more awake than you and your men” she answered, voice raspy because of the tickling in her throat due to her habit of burning incense way too often than what was probably healthy “Your aunt is already up and praying” she added with an hint of distaste.

  
Q still wondered how his barmy and pagan grandmother could be the same woman who had gave life to his mother - an atheist psychologist, whose faith is only in science - and his aunt - an acolyte of the Catholic church, who knows the whole Bible by heart. No wonder he turned out so weird “Endure it: she’s going to mass later”

  
His grandmother hummed “You need a holiday” she sentenced in that no-nonsense voice that sometimes left her mouth.   
Q rolled his eyes and uncurled a bit to make space in his lap for Pampuria - James had evidently got tired of being used as a catbed and shooed it away “Is that you or the cards talking?”

  
“Both. But now that you mention it, I’ve seen some perturbations in the cards: is everything alright?” she inquired rather noisily. In the background, Q could hear the faint noises of someone entering the kitchen - that was his grandma’s den - to make breakfast “Your father says hello”

  
“Tell him I say hello back” Q bent down to kiss Pampuria head, right between its twitchy ears while his fingers gently ran through her floof and disentangled some knots “We’re alright, don’t worry - just had a scare because of work” he reassured her; Q was much like his mother and he certainly didn’t believe in tarot cards and crystal balls, but his grandma had the uncanny ability to guess right every time.

  
“Good - they’re the only ones who’ll ever put up with your weirdness” his grandmother said lightly, uncaring that her words might have been a tad harsh “Go back to sleep: you sound like a zombie”

  
“I’ll call later to say hello to everyone else” Q reassured, eyes already fallen closed as he snuggled deeper in the couch with Pampuria “Love you”

  
His grandma’s fond goodbye was followed by the dull click of the line being closed and it followed Q in his sleep.

  
Q was roused again only several hours later by Danny slumping on the couch next to him, his hands carefully cradling a mug of tea as an offering “‘sst time 'ssit?” he mumbled, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, absentmindedly noticing the absence of Pampuria weight on his stomach.

  
Danny wrapped Q’s fingers around the mug “Almost half past eleven” He kissed Q’s forehead “James and Alex are making an early lunch”

  
Q raised his eyes to look over at the kitchen while he curled in Danny’s side, head tucked in the divot between Danny’s shoulder and neck: James and Alex were effortlessly moving together in their small kitchenette, stirring pans and exchanging kisses “The cats?”

  
“Already fed them” Danny reassured, nuzzling the messy bird nest Q called hair “How’s your family?”

  
Q yawned widely “Good - my aunt was praying at seven in the morning” he said in a sleepy chuckle, warmth filling him as he sipped his tea, immersed in the familiar sounds of his family - because Danny, James and Alex were more than just lovers: they were his partners, his family - moving around to begin the day.


	12. 00qad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the weirdest mystery fics I've ever written

“What can I get you, mate?” inquired the bartender, unhurriedly polishing the counter with a filthy rag and mentally wondering about what a dude in a tailored suit that costed more than some posh houses in Belgravia was doing in his admittedly hole of a bar; his curiosity soared up even more when a beautiful woman joined him, looking as out of place as a Van Gogh’s painting in her sunflower-yellow dress and the heavy rubies hanging from her lobes. 

  
“A martini, shaken not stirred” James sighed as Eve sat down next to him and promptly elbowed him in the ribs.

  
“He’ll take a scotch” she said with an exasperated smile plastered over her face“And a whole bottle of vodka for me”

  
The bartender just arched an eyebrow and shrugged “Nice lady you got yourself, man”

  
“She’s an abusive woman” James pointed out, glaring at Eve when she stabbed his foot with a heel of her stiletto shoes: damn Q, who had bought her those stupid Manolo Blahnik for her birthday.

  
“And he likes cock” Eve retaliated, knocking back her first tumbler of vodka.

  
The bartender nodded sagely and went on wiping the counter, observing with interest the weird and evidently posh couple in front of him “To each their own” he declared and opened a tab after eyeing the speed at which the woman had knocked back a second glass.

  
Eve winked at the bartender before fully focusing on her friend, whose nerves seemed to be quite frazzled “Alright, start again with the story - from the beginning, please”

  
“Well, apparently, it’s all Q’s fault…”   


* * *

Q hated the Tube, especially at six in the morning when it was cramped with a crowd of grumpy people going to work; if he hadn’t hated more James’ driving, he would have woken up the lazy sod and ordered him to take him to bloody MI6 - but it wasn’t the case and Q was dead sure the charming bastard was snuggling Danny in bed, waiting for Alex to come back from his morning jog to spectacularly shag in the shower.

  
Q scowled darkly at his shoes, noticing only in that moment that he had grabbed different socks: the one on his left foot was adorned with Batman’s logo and could only be Danny’s, while the other was of a dark and sinfully soft blue wool and James would kill him if he knew he had stolen his stupidly expensive socks.

  
The woman sitting next to him comfortingly patted his knee, ignoring every British rule about propriety that had ever been enacted in the history of the Empire “Don’t look so grim, darling” she encouraged in slightly foreign-accented English, an inflexion on which Q couldn’t really put his finger on.

  
Q shifted a bit on his hard-plastic seat and observed her: she had long and dark brown hair that had been knotted in a messy bun to hide its greasiness, a tanned skin that had been slightly roughened by the cold of London winter, a blue fisherman windcheater that swallowed her thin frame and a plastic bag bursting with threadbare sheets and a few personal belongings - homeless, probably “I’m not a morning person”

  
“Me either” she cheerfully agreed, her chocolate-brown eyes sparkling with amusement and her plush mouth arching upwards in a delighted smile “It’s a shame our days aren’t made of endless nights”

  
Q nodded, trying not to stare at the knick knacks in the bag: he had always been nosy and too curious for his own good and even when he knew it would be indelicate, he couldn’t help snooping a bit “Yeah” he concurred lamely, fingering the spare change in his pockets, rustling the sweets wrappings he never bothered to throw in the bin: he wanted to help her out, after all he had been in her shoes before MI6 had picked him up from the streets and offered him a choice between a job and a life in prison - apparently, hacking them was considered treason.

  
But he didn’t want to make her feel bad with his charity either and so, he was stumped on what should he do next - and he still had only a couple of stops to decide on a course of action “Sweet?” he offered, stretching out his open palm to let her pick one.

  
“Oh, thank you” She smiled “May I take the cherry-flavoured one, even if it’s the last?”   
“Go on, my boyfriend buys tons of the stuff”   


* * *

“How can it be his fault? He just gave a homeless woman some spare change and a sweet” Eve blinked, confused by the logic behind James’ reasoning.

  
“Yeah, mate, I can’t see it either” the bartender agreed, his chin propped up on the palms of his hands “And just to make everything clear: this Q guy has another boyfriend beside you?”

  
“Two” Eve cleared “As I said, he likes cock”   
James briefly glared at her before focusing on the bartender “Why are you listening to our private conversation?”

  
“Nothing better to do” the man answered, topping the posh guy’s glass “Go on, this is on the house: you’re entertaining”

  
“Well, it’s Q’s fault because he also lost his ring…”   


* * *

Alex was walking past a darkened alley, directed towards the little shop that sold James’ favourite brand of coffee - strong and slightly spiced with a hint of cinnamon - when the noises coming from the shadows alerted him of something not being quite right, MI6 training kicking in as naturally as breathing.

  
He carefully peeked in the alley and frowned at the sight of two struggling figures, one of which was clearly being overpowered and was producing that kind of wetly choking wheezes he had heard only in the field, when a target tried to desperately talk with lungs bubbling with blood and sliced throats.

  
Breathing slowly and regularly, Alex drew his gun from the holster, thanking the gods that Q’s and James’ paranoia had started affecting him too “Hands up” he intimated in his coldest and firmest voice.

  
The thinnest figure turned towards him, graceful hands bloodied and raised to block a stray ray of sun from caressing their face while the other body fell heavily to the ground; Alex recognised the beautiful and sharp features of a woman with dark hair pulled away from her big dark eyes, her feminine body hidden by a too large blue windcheater sprayed with red “Don’t move”

  
The woman stared at him without ever batting her eyelashes, as if she had frozen on the spot “Self defence” she just whispered, barely moving her full lips.

  
“You killed a man” Alex pointed out, trying to spot a weapon so that it couldn’t be used against him; during several missions he had learned that women weren’t less than men when it came to deviousness and brutal force to kill “Back to the wall”

  
It was when she moved to comply to his order that something glinted on her finger and, horrified, Alex shot her.   


* * *

“Wait. Wait. Wait” Eve dawned her fifth tumbler of vodka “You mean that the homeless girl was the same girl Alex caught murdering someone in an alley” she tried to clear.

  
“Yes! And Alex freaked out because he recognised Q’s ring, which we personally designed…”

  
“…so it couldn’t have been anyone else’s!” the bartender exclaimed.

  
Both James and Eve turned to look at him somewhat disconcerted by the man’s enthusiasm, distrust and suspicion darkening their expressions.

  
“Well, what happened next? Man, you’re going to make loads of money with this strange story of yours: I hope you have hired a very good agent”

  
“What?” James squinted at the bartender as if it would help him to make some more sense.

  
“I’ve figured you both out: you’re novelists! It would explain your weirdness” the man proclaimed “Now, go on”   


* * *

Danny hated not having anything to do and boringly watched the people pass by his flat, nose smashed against the cold window and a cat lazily cradled in his lap - he literally had nothing else to occupy his mind: he had mopped the floors, dusted the furniture, done the dishes, fed the cats, made the bed, loaded the washing machine and already prepared lunch.

  
“One of those tossers could have stayed with me” Danny sighed and scratched Pampuria between its twitchy ears “They’re all workaholics”

  
A man hurried by, animatedly talking in his mobile - most likely he was loudly ranting.   
A child was tugging at his grandmother hand, determinately marching towards the park.

  
A woman with a bullet hole in her forehead peacefully walked by.

  
A woman.

  
With a bullet hole in her forehead.   
Peacefully walked by.

  
“What the fuck?!?” Danny smashed his face closer to the window and screeched loudly when the woman turned to stare at him with completely black and alien eyes, while her tanned skin slowly greyed and her head elongated into a lemon-shape that everyone preached to be typical of aliens.

  
“OH. MY. GOD.”

* * *

James woke up with a start “God, Q, I had the weirdest dream”

  
“Don’t drink Alec’s vodka next time”


	13. 00q (fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fem!00q go Christmas shopping

~~~~ Josephine curled her arm around Q’s waist, drawing her as close as their heavy coats allowed to, while they walked along the busy streets crowded with people looking for last-minute Christmas presents “Do we really need to buy one also to M?” she inquired, tucking the red point of Q’s ear under her woollen hat.

  
Q snuggled closer to Josephine, nuzzling her golden cheek with the freezing point of her nose “Afraid so: we are his Secret Santa”  well, Josephine was but Q would never leave her to her own devices “So, any ideas?”

  
“You’re the brainy one” Josephine grinned, her teeth shining even whiter under the blue and white fairy lights streamed all around the city - not for the first time, Q wondered how it was possible that there existed human beings so unfairly beautiful “I just whip out the credit cards” Josephine continued, her voice full of playful mirth.

  
It was good, seeing her so happy and relaxed even during a festivity that had usually brought a sombre darkness in her crystal blue eyes. Q elbowed her in the side “So, will you just give me a credit card for Christmas?” she teased.

  
“Well, you could buy yourself all the Christmas presents you want with one” Josephine went along with Q’s teasing, receiving as an answer another pointy elbow in her ribs.

  
When it started snowing, in quiet accord they slipped in a Starbucks and, as Josephine commandeered a table and dumped their shopping bags spilling with ribbons and cheerful gift paper on the floor, Q went to order their drinks.

  
Josephine quietly observed her; despite being petite, she was easy to spot in the queue because of her bright yellow hat and scarf wrapped around her like a cuddly and exotic snake. A dusting of white snow was powdered on her shoulders and the curls that had escaped the safety of the hat, making them seem more tightly coiled than usual. A bright red hue had taken residence on her cheek and the point of her nose, making her look like a mischievous elf.

  
“Jo, what are you staring at?” Q inquired when she joined her girlfriend, hands occupied by a chai latte and a regular earl grey.

  
“You - you’re gorgeous” Josephine grinned, reaching for her cup.

  
“And you’re ridiculous” Rolling her eyes, Q shut her up with a loving kiss.


	14. dannylex (fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fem!dannylex cuddles for the soul

Alexandra had a fascination with Daniela’s hair: it was long and luscious, a thick cascade of tangled curls falling in knots down the sensual expanse of her back “Danny?”

  
She hummed in response, rubbing almonds oil over her lips to take the smudged lipstick of the previous evening off. When Alexandra wasn’t prompt to answer, Daniela tossed a glance over her shoulder “What, Alex?” she inquired, her eyes sparkling with interest.

  
“I was just wondering if I could do your hair” Alexandra admitted rather shyly, tucking behind her ear a short strands of honey-brown hair.

  
Danny smiled brightly “Of course, I never pay much attention to it: it will be cool going around in order for once” she agreed enthusiastically, hopping off of the bed to go and retrieve a brush. Once she had it, Daniela snuggled back into bed, slithering between Alex’s thighs.  

  
Alexandra couldn’t possible explain how important for her such a thing was: his mother - neither of them, to be honest - had ever let her brush her hair and they had suggested to her often enough to cut her blond hair, that she did it. Tentatively, Alex brought the brush to Danny’s hair and started stroking down, gently getting rid of the tangles; gradually, as Daniela relaxed against her chest, Alex too became more confident.

  
“I feel so pampered” Danny purred, leaning in the careful touches.

  
“I’m glad” Alex smiled, her fingers running through the smooth and untangled hair “That’s all I want”

  
Danny hooked an arm behind Alex’s neck, bringing her neck down so that he could kiss her plump lips “Love you, my beautiful”

 


	15. 00q (crack, fluff)

It wasn't often that James came home to find the entrance door to his flat ajar, but he had often found himself in such a situation out in the field and he didn't feel paranoid in the least when he whipped his gun out - after checking that none of his body neighbours were about to walk into the corridor - and let its barrel proceed him when he entered into his own house.  

Not that James particularly cared if it actually was a paranoid move: paranoia had kept him alive far longer than any other of his colleagues. Paranoia was good. Paranoia was a trustworthy friend. "Don't shoot me, you dickhead" 

So was also the muffled voice that came from his living room "Q?" He asked warily, waiting to have the young boffin in his line of sight before putting his weapon away "Why have you broken into my home?"

Q glared - or tried to: it was kind of difficult do anything but frowning like a blind mole without his glasses on - at the agent "You..hic!" Embarrassed, Q plastered a hand on his mouth. "Jesus, are you drunk?" 

Ignoring the question, Q scowled harder "You break into mine all the time” 

Which was true but James had no particular desire to acknowledge the fact and explore the reasons why he did it - no, better take a leaf out of Q's book and crack a bottle of scotch open "Is something wrong?" 

"Where's my car, dude?"

Dude? "Did you really break into my house to ask me about a car?" 

"It's worth more.. more than.." Q waved - flailed, would have been a better descriptor - his hand around in the air, as if to convey a very annoyed 'you know how much was it worth', and pointed  an accusing finger at the man's chest "My car"

James snorted at the sight, tempted to move a little to the side so that Q would actually be pointing his finger at him instead of at the wall "Parked down on the street, alright?"

"It should be parked in MI6" Q mumbled, looking around for his glasses. 

James walked up to the couch to join the research and hummed when he found the glasses, carefully sliding them up Q's nose "Hello" he grinned. "Hello" Q grinned back - for, like, a microsecond "Stop stealing government property" 

James arched an eyebrow "I thought it was _your_ car?"

"I miss-misspeaked.. I'm drunk" Q scowled. 

"Sure" the agent retorted, one hand reaching up to push a stray curl out of the younger man's forehead "My poor, dearest Quartermaster" 

Q leaned into James' chest, pushing his head up into the caress "You drive me insane" 

"You love me anyway, though"

A snore was the only answer James got.


	16. 00qad (fluff)

Q leaned over the basket Danny was looking into, Pam curled in his lap like a rather fluffy pillow, curious to see what he had packed for their lunch in the park and to try and sneak out of it a little snack; if Danny noticed him doing it, Q would probably be scolded for not eating breakfast like he had been told to - as if he was a child!

  
“Don’t even think about it” James murmured to Q’s ear, lips travelling upward to kiss the younger man’s temple “You’re going to wait until lunchtime”

  
“If you eat now, you won’t eat later” Danny added, closing the basket after making sure that he hadn’t forgotten cutlery at home.

  
Q scowled but gave up with a sigh, letting himself lean against the agent’s chest “You’re so mean” he stated, rewarding Pampuria with a scratch behind her ears when she seemingly meowed in agreement; they had brought a leash for her too but, unlike Turing, Pampuria didn’t like gallivanting around the park and preferred staying perched on her owner’s thighs.

  
“Who’s being mean?” Alex sat down, toeing his shoes off once his feet were on the thick blanket they had put on the grass to protect their clothes from stains.

  
Q pouted “Them”

  
James rolled his eyes, finger flicking away an ant that had climbed up Alex’s trousers “He’s hungry”

  
“You should have eaten breakfast” the other agent pointed out, checking his wristwatch “You can wait an hour” Alex said, raising his eyes in confusion when Danny started giggling.

  
“We’ve told him the same”

  
“You mean you’ve been treating me as a kid”

  
James grinned and kissed Q’s forehead again “Not our fault if you behave like a child”


	17. 00qad (fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sick!fic

It had begun with an innocent little sniffle that everyone had ignored; Danny had wiped his nose, washed his hands and gone back to figuring out how he was supposed to fill the Sacher Torte with apricot jam without destroying it; more tutorial videos were definitely required but Q was using up all the connection speed for some project of his - probably, hacking somewhere just for sport because he was bored - and so, Danny had convinced James to employ his skills with knives for something a tad more pedestrian than what he usually did while Alex put the finishing touches on his homemade jam.

  
Contagion would have been so easily avoided if they hadn’t decided to jump all in bed together after dinner, high on dark and velvety chocolate and clearly too much sugar.

  
Between them all, what with his dismal diet and his skin seeing too little sunlight, Q had always been the one with the weakest immune system - it wasn’t that surprising when the morning after he woke up with a light scratching in his throat and a stuffed nose which Danny tried to cure with hot tea and orange juice. 

  
After all, it was just a little cold.   
What nobody had been expecting, it was the cough that started to wrack Alex’s lungs a couple of days after.

  
“I think we’re catching influenza” Danny stated a little uselessly as he cleared the bedside table from the amass of wet paper tissues; his little sniffle too had developed into a fully fledged cold and his head was aching something fierce even after he’d taken some ibuprofen.

  
James hummed, sliding his hand over Danny’s forehead “You do feel a little warm” he said before leaning over towards Q, who was curled under all the blankets he had found in the linen cupboard “Q definitely has a fever” he murmured to avoid waking him up.  

  
“Me too” Alex said as he walked in the bedroom, thermometer in hand.

  
James didn’t jump up in surprise when Alex’s arms wound themselves around his middle and Alex plastered his face against his shoulder-blades: the coughing had advertised his movements throughout the whole flat. Gently, James pried the thermometer from Alex’s hand to read it “Alright Alex, hop in bed and see if you can pry a couple of blankets from Q”

  
When James started sniffling and coughing too, he didn’t really notice. He was too focused on whipping up chicken soup from scratch because Q - the spoiled tosser - wouldn’t eat the canned one, administering cold medicine and cuddles, making sure that they didn’t run out of paper tissues and that something stupidly boring was always on the telly so that they’d sleep.

  
Once, while recovering from one of his stint in the field, Moneypenny had told him that men make the worst patients.

  
She was right - mostly.

  
Danny was actually an angel: even with his nose red and dripping everywhere, he got up from the bed and tried to help around the flat, took his meds without complaining and slept away most of his sickness. 

  
Q, unsurprisingly, was a monster and, no matter how much he loved him, James really needed to breathe and remind himself not to strangle his favourite boffin. The younger man refused to eat unless James patiently sat next to him and spoon-fed him the homemade soup, whined and pulled faces at the syrup like a child and had the unfortunate habit of stealing all the blankets for himself.

  
Alex was something in between: the fever made him blabber a lot - it was almost endearing, if one considered that Alex rarely was that talkative - which definitely was a step up from Q’s constant whining, but James had to constantly drag him away from freezing showers and tuck him back in bed with the certainty that he’d be tugged in there too.

  
It was while he was laying down with them that Danny pointed out that James was sick too “You’re burning”

  
“You’ve got a fever: you can’t tell James’ temperature with accuracy” Q snootily remarked, burying his face in Alex’s side and joining him for his snoring. 

  
James chuckled and tightened his hold around Danny’s waist “Don’t worry, let’s sleep”

 


	18. 00q (mission)

They lurked outside, waiting.

  
If there was something spies were great at, it was mingling with the shadows and holding their breath as they waited for their prey to emerge from the darkness - even someone as the Quartermaster, who definitely wasn’t as accomplished at the hunting game as the agents who had honed on their skills in the field were.

  
It just was an instinct, acquired in the halls of MI6 where even the walls had ears and nobody could really be trusted.

  
Afterall, it was a mole they were cleaning out - not some kind of international criminal with an ego swollen to the size of Russia; a lair hosting at least one animal species that was deemed to be on the brink of extinction; goons that varied from the incredibly deadly type to the cartoonish brutes that could have easily inspired themselves to a Disney movie for their signature villain moves.

  
In some dire cases, in Q’s modest opinion, the comparison actually was insulting to Disney movies’ villains that were quite respectable.

  
Entwined as they were in the dark corner, they were easily overlooked: anyone passing by would avert their eyes, the rumours about the bet on the fact that 007 and the Quartermaster were shagging circling in their heads.

  
Like any good cover story, its foundations were set in the truth.

  
Bond gently bumped his elbow against the Quartermaster’s arm and the younger man smoothly slid closer, understanding him without any need for words, and let himself be enveloped in his arms; tucked as Q was under his chin, James marvelled at how harmless the other could seem - which wasn’t true at all: Q was as deadly as any agent when in possession of the right weapons.

  
“Nine o'clock”

  
“He’s going to walk past us” James observed.

  
Q could feel a tension coiled under his hands: the agent was ready to lunge - ready to kill.

  
He probably shouldn’t have been turned on by all that raw and brute strength but god, he really was “Kiss me” Q ordered as he flipped up the hood of his parka: without his signature unruly curls out in the open, it was highly unlikely that he would be recognised.

  
“Always a pleasure” no matter the reason.   
James drew Q deeper in the shadows, head tilted down to catch the other’s lips and hide his features: only his blond hair shone under the yellowish light of the lamppost - anonymous.


	19. 00q (angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au inspired by the movie "love is the devil"

He watched the man cry, dark strands falling limp into blue irises that drowned in the middle of the carnage of broken capillaries and were swallowed whole by engorged pupils - eclipses of the human soul, lost to the inevitable crash that always awaited to pounce on its victims after the high.

  
Q had been there too, - broken. Shattered and used and abused and tossed away once nothing more could be wrung out from his exhausted limbs: not a drop of sweat, not a bead of blood.

  
Under another name - a true one that his parents and old school friends would have recognised, if they read amidst the obituaries in the paper - Q had let someone else slip under his skin, let them stretch it out to accommodate their own limbs until even his emptiness had been robbed from him.  
He watched the man cry, rough hands with swollen knuckles knotted over his stomach - whether to ease a swelling wave of nausea or to keep a scream inside, Q didn’t quite know: the human body could be so tricky to read, behind the hazy curtain of smoke and alcoholic vapours.

  
Q had been changed too - driven to the brink and pushed down the edge of the cliff to fall into the sea, frigid against his febricitant skin.

  
He gave up the pills and the drugs and most of the booze - some sins needed to be washed away and there wasn’t enough holy water in the Vatican to erase the scars etched in his innards.

  
He watched the man cry.

  
Q stood up from the busted couch, letting a sigh of relief when the leather came unstuck from his skin like a bandaid ripped from a fresh wound - and he dropped to sit next to the crying man, too close too fast.

  
“What’s your name?”

  
Sometimes, the easy questions were the harder to answer - though, Q had no idea why asking someone their name was considered an easy one: was there something more complicated to affirm than identity?

  
What’s in a name?

  
What’s in a name?

  
“George"

  
Q tilted his head to the side, listening to the quality of the man’s voice rather than his words “That’s not your name” he stated in the end, dropping his glass in the crying man’s hand “Who are you?”

  
“I don’t understand”

  
“I’m Q"

  
“Q”

  
He didn’t understand whether it was a question or an acknowledgement “That’s who I am - not who I used to be” he explained - pushed closer, dug his angles into the other’s muscles, forced the crying man to see him.

  
To feel him.

  
To know him.

  
What’s in a name?

  
“I don’t have much imagination”

  
“You can be a James, then” Q shrugged “Awfully common name: you can the surprise under the dull silver screen”

  
“Or I can be myself”

  
“Yourself is a self that’s not yours any longer”  
The crying man raised his gaze and for the first time since the conversation had started, he looked into the other’s face - into otherworldly green eyes that Francis would have paid to have torn out of that beautiful face, so that he could splatter them amidst the gore on his paintings: a flash of absinth-shaded hope amidst the darkness “You talk in riddles”

  
“That’s the drugs” Q pointed out “The ones in your body”

  
He frowned “How can you tell?”

  
“I used to be you”

  
“You used to be Francis’ model?”

  
Q shook his head “Just a model” the term made him sneer “Just a piece of meat for them to stab at their heart’s content”

  
It resonated within him like an angelic choir - like the siren song of the abyss he’d wanted to fall into so many times “They don’t understand”  
“I do”

  
He did.

  
He offered the other man his hand “Pleasure to meet you, Q. I’m James”

 


	20. 00q (au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AI au

“Tell me, between us, who would you refer to as heartless?” 007 had inquired once, watching the Quartermaster with imperturbable steely blue eyes from his perch on the diagnostic table even as his synthetic skin had been peeled away to reveal a metallic cavity throwing up a rainbow of cables, some of them braided together and others unceremoniously plugged into their outlets, left to their own devices to tangle with themselves in a series of senseless knots.

  
At that question, Gabriel - known as Quartermaster in the quivering entrails of MI6, his name blackened out from every single scrap of paper in the building until he had difficulties remembering it himself, had answered “You” with the arrogant certainty of a scientist: of course, he had meant to say that, in a purely anatomical sense, the android actually didn’t have a heart.

  
But 007’s words had had a more ethical and somewhat romantic connotation; the fact that his inventor, a true human being - a real person, as they liked to define themselves - hadn’t been able to read that shade in his inquiry, it was the answer he had been waiting for: between the two of them, certainly the Quartermaster was the one lacking a heart.

  
Still, 007 couldn’t help being fascinated by him. Thanks to his observational skills, enhanced so that he would do his job with an accuracy that humans couldn’t even hope to achieve, he knew the most intimate and endearing details about the man who had created him - the riddle of MI6, one that everyone fruitlessly tried to crack.

  
And, because of that, 007 realised that the Quartermaster needed a confidante, an occasion for all those little features of his character that he kept under wraps, shrouded in thick veils of mystery, to be brought up in the light. Leaning in sensually, slightly displaying the sharp line of his jaw which he knew his creator was particularly fond of, 007 brushed his mouth against the shell of Q’s ear - just enough to send a shiver down the Quartermaster’s spine, but not so much that the approach would make him uncomfortable and put some space between them “Tell me your darkest secret”


	21. 00qad (fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sick!fic + parenting

“Please, stop crying” James whispered as he gently bounced Richard in his arms, one hand soothingly caressing that small back wracked by violent sobs and uncaring of the snot and tears that had soaked the once starch collar of his shirt “I know you don’t feel well sweetie but, really, you’re going to feel worse”

  
“Let him tire himself out” Danny commented before sticking a finger dripping with porridge in his mouth, testing that it wasn’t too hot and sugary enough; since Richard had gotten the fever, Danny’s main concern was finding a way to make their son eat “He’ll go to sleep that way and so, he can get all the rest he needs”

  
It was a faultless reasoning, but James just couldn’t stand the crying - obviously not because it got on his nerves: it wrecked his heart seeing his little boy so distressed and clearly in pain “Shouldn’t we call a doctor?”

  
Danny added sugar to the porridge “I took Richard to the pediatrician yesterday morning”

  
“No, I meant, shouldn’t we call another doctor? To get another opinion”

  
The ‘are you shitting me’ look that Danny shot him at hearing his proposal, it made James think of an angered Q and he grinned sheepishly, tucking Richard under his neck as if his son’s small body could protect him.

  
“He’s on antibiotics: you need to let the medicine do its course before despairing” Danny sighed in the end, actually endeared by James’ worry; of course, Danny wasn’t exactly happy either but he wasn’t worried: while having started some days before, the fever had never skyrocketed to particularly high temperatures. With a bowl of porridge in hand, Danny walked out of the kitchen “Come on, let’s sit on the couch and see if we can get something into our little prince” he encouraged with a warm smile, caressing James’ arms as he passed by.

  
The older man followed readily: seeing Richard eat even a spoonful would make him feel better; he couldn’t remember when Richard’s last meal had been - maybe a packet of crackers Q had managed to feed him in the wee hours of the morning before. He sat down carefully, trying not to jostle his precious cargo, and he gently started to turn him to face Danny.

  
“Nooo”

  
At barely one year of age, Richard didn’t speak many words that weren’t just a string of babbling sounds: daddy, dada, da and papa - James was sure that their kid would end up hating them, when he realised how much work it had taken him to learn four different words for each of his fathers; pee and poo - Alex had said something about how words with consonants such as 'p’ and ’d’ are easier for babies to pronounce; dum - which actually wasn’t a real word but they had quickly figured out that it stood for 'dummy’.

  
And then there was Richard’s favourite word: no - almost always accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his head and an almost ridiculously pouting lip.

  
Danny leaned over and helped James with his predicament “You can stay with your beloved Dada, honey - you just have to turn around and look at Da” he coaxed.

  
“NO!” Richard shrieked, burrowing himself into James’ chest “Papa!” He cried out, face blotchy red because of the fever and endless crying.

  
“Should we be actually offended that he’s already playing favourites?” James asked, but he really didn’t mean it: he knew that Richard loved them all - he just seemed to be particularly soothed by Q’s presence and honestly, it wasn’t that surprisingly since James himself, Danny and Alex found the younger man’s closeness reassuring.

  
“Papa is at work, honey” Danny sighed, back again at square one while the porridge slowly cooled on the coffee table.

  
“Call Q” James suggested “I’ll hold the phone to Richard’s ear and, while he babbles away at Q, you can feed him” he added in explanation.

  
“That’s actually… a good idea”

  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence” James snarked “Come on, get on with it before that thing goes stone cold”

  
Danny grinned up at James and quickly whipped out his mobile, dialling Q’s number before giving it to the other man without even waiting for Q to answer so that he could explain him the situation, as he was too busy stirring up the porridge in an attempt at warming it up again.

  
“Danny?”

  
“Hello, Papa!” James thrilled in the phone, smiling down at Richard who immediately looked up at him with big watery eyes “There’s a certain someone who’s throwing a little tantrum”

  
An exasperated chuckle came from Q’s side of the line “What is it?”

  
“He’s been crying the whole morning and he’s refusing to eat: we thought of exploiting you to distract him while Danny tries to get some food in him” James explained, subtly shifting Richard’s body so that he would slightly face Danny.

  
The child didn’t protest even a bit and just made grabby motions at the mobile, while James kept moving him on his lap “Papa?”

  
“What, do you want to talk with papa?” James asked Gabriel, combing his sweaty hair away from his forehead to better feel whether he was still running hot.

  
“Papa. Papa. Papa”

  
“Spoiled” Danny sentenced fondly “Open up, honey” he encouraged, spoon full and brushing against Richard’s lips.

  
James readily dropped the mobile to their son’s ear and, as soon as Q started talking and coaxing Richard into eating, their little boy opened his mouth and let Danny feed him. In between spoonfuls, the child babbled excitedly; his sickness and discomfort seemingly forgotten as Q’s posh voice talked nonsense to him - James had no doubt that, when they inevitably had to end the call, Richard would begin to cry again.

  
But for now, he was just happy to see their baby boy eat and smile as he usually did.


	22. 00qad (slice of life)

Alex wasn’t used to being the focus of so many people - by which, he meant his partners. His speciality, after all, it had always been to blend in with the background: he appeared so ordinary and unremarkable that he went forgotten in people’s minds, faded as a photograph exposed to sunlight for too many years. And, while a thousand of gazes barely registered his presence, Alex stole their secrets.

  
He was a different kind of spy from James who, to be honest, wouldn’t know the meaning of subtlety even if they made him read it up on the dictionary every day - it just wasn’t in James’ style, making use of the shadows for more than just a executing shot to the head.

  
They were polar opposites but still James was wrapped around Alex, showing his affection in the only way he knew how to - physically. Which didn’t necessarily mean sex, Alex had discovered; in the beginning of their relationship, influenced by MI6 gossip, he had believed the rumours that depicted the man as sexually insatiable and emotionally unavailable.

  
The truth was, much like Alex himself, that James hadn’t grown up in a living environment and he didn’t know anything more natural than showing love in a physical manner, the words to express himself escaping him. Which was also the reason why, despite being so radically different, Alex felt like he had a connection to James and enjoyed every single one of his embraces, relaxing against the other’s broad chest.

  
Alex stretched a little and immediately one hand was on his forehead, obviously checking the temperature “I’m fine” he murmured up at Danny, smiling in reassurance to the younger man as he took his fingers and brought them to his lips, kissing them tenderly.

  
With his sweetness and too big heart, Danny brought into their relationship what neither James nor Alex could: a love so pure and easily expressed that it almost made Alex’s soul ache with the need of protecting him, making sure that the evils of the world didn’t tarnish him - that serenity and blind trust were just too much of a precious gift.

  
“He truly is fine” James reassured Danny, tightening a bit his grip on the waist in his arms as he bestowed a kiss on slightly sweaty skin, just under where the other man’s hairline begun.

  
Saying that Alex liked it, it would have been an euphemism because, while he was glad that he was capable of protecting Danny, he loved the fact that he could let himself relax without worry thanks to James, who would always be there to guard his back. Alex had never felt protected - not until up to the moment when James had entered his life and quietly gained his love and trust.

  
“And, since James’ word hardly is law, I’ll confirm that Alex really is well with the thermometer” Q chimed in, appearing as suddenly and silently as his cats would when they played hunting around the house; swiftly, he stuck the thermometer - one of those that were supposed to have disappeared from people’s houses because unsafe - under Alex’s armpit and looked down at the watch on James’ wrist, taking the time.

  
“Thank you, mother” he teased lightly.

  
Alex often puzzled about Q. He was a difficult man to love, despite the fact that he was the one he had more things in common with - they both were geniuses who got lost in their own minds; people of few words that appeared witty in public, but that in the privacy of their homes could be incredibly awkward; they were rational and they saw the world in numbers, strings of code, variables.

  
But whereas Alex thought of himself as a polite man with a quiet demeanour, Q had a sharp-edged and restless personality that often clashed with the people surrounding him. To Alex, it almost seemed as if Q’s genius was too much sometimes - clearly not having been nurtured and cherished in his youth, Q’s cleverness had become more of a curse rather than a blessing for the younger man.

  
Maybe it was that what Q brought to balance out their relationship: the excitement outside of the field without which neither Alex nor James would have been capable of staying tethered to a relationship for so long - a shot of adrenaline whenever Q smirked with a knowing expression, teasing them all out to play.

  
The thermometer was yanked away from his armpit and Q squinted down at it “36.8 °C” he declared “Perfectly healthy again: I told you that what he needed was just some rest and meds but no, you had to try all the stupid methods you found on the internet first” Q scolded James and Danny, shaking his head in disapproval.

  
Alex snorted: certainly, it wasn’t Q’s frequent “I told you so"s that he so much loved about the younger man.


	23. 00qad (fluff)

Under the shade of the palm trees, it was almost cold; a breeze blew softly from the sea and it brought a salty scent with it even so far up the beach and, despite moving masses of hot air, it raised goosebumps on Alex’s fair skin that was slowly becoming tanned under the brighter sun shining on the French Riviera.

  
Not as tanned as James, of course. In the matter of two days spent laying about shirtless - and with the help of a tan booster lotion - his lover’s skin had become golden, offering a perfect contrast to his icy blue eyes that reflected the endlessly clear sky and to his blond hair, that had already gotten a shade lighter under the strong sunlight.   
Q and Danny preferred the shade, or so they claimed.

  
Personally, Alex thought that Danny would have really liked to get a tan but had discovered that his skin was too sensitive for a prolonged exposure - no matter how much sunscreen he had put on during the previous days, his shoulders still had burnt and a smattering of freckles had appeared on the bridge of his nose.

  
Q, while just as sensitive as Danny, probably didn’t want to get tanned at all; amused, Alex had lazily spied on the way his younger lover moved around the beach following the shade, towel following him like the train of a bridal dress - just like the wide, diva-like straw hat that never left its perch on Q’ s curls, made even more unruly by the salty air.

  
Alex yawned and turned on his stomach, cheek pillowed on his crossed forearms, closing his eyes - all the other senses suddenly sharpened when his eyelids were lowered, lashes fanned out on his sun kissed cheeks.

  
Above all, he could hear the sea: its voice came and went in a constant rhythm, scraping along the sand before rolling on itself and lazily stretching along the wet beach, broken only by the yachts that speeded along the horizon line and disturbed its lulling song. If he focused, Alex heard the slow turning of the pages of the novel James was reading - the decadent Hollywood world coming to life on the slightly yellowing paper; as the frequency of that particular sound slowed, Alex guessed that James was falling asleep, tired out by a long swim. He heard the steady tapping of Q’s fingers too, coding for pleasure instead for work, accompanied by the steady litany of Danny’s voice, talking about snatches of histories he’d heard about the little city - more of a village, really - they were staying in.

  
Also his sense of smell was sharpened and Alex filled his lungs to the brim with the curios mix of the tang of his light sweat, overlayed by the salty fragrance of the sea and the pasty smell of the sunscreen coating his body like a burial sheet. It was a scent that alone was enough to make him think about days stretching in the summer’s heat, pleasantly similar one to another. Uneventful. Boring. And safe.

  
“He’s fallen asleep too”

  
Alex wanted to reply that no, he hadn’t: he was just focused on his surroundings, slowly letting his consciousness fade away to a pale ghost as he immersed himself in the nature, became one with it. But when he tried to open an eye to playfully wink at Danny, his facial muscles wouldn’t cooperate - almost seemed to relax further - and his voice stayed trapped in his mind, too enchanted by the song of the sea to interrupt.

  
“Did he put some sunscreen on? He’ll burn if he sleeps under the sun”

  
“Yes, he has. Don’t worry”

  
Lips against his skin. Alex turned his head to the side a little, breathing in the scent of the man kissing his heated forehead before putting what felt like Q’s straw hat on his hair: brought out by the heat, Alex recognised the smell of Danny’s lavender-perfumed shampoo.

  
Then he felt nothing else but the breeze whispering in its secret language to the palm trees.

  
Damn, but Danny was right: he too had fallen asleep.


	24. 00q (mission)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GORE

When a spray of thick and dark red painted the white roses, Q felt his pulse pick up its rhythm and start racing while a thin veil of cold sweat beaded just on the surface of his skin, turning his natural fair complexion in a sickly pallor; part of his mind was transfixed on the image, eyes taking in every single detail and storing them for later analysis

  
(The beauty of a knife effortlessly slipping through layers of skin and flesh, cutting through sinews and veins to embed itself in a bone, shining white amidst the reds and dark pink of the human body.

  
The mute opening and closing of a mouth - a twisted parody of a fish choking on air - in a pathetic attempt at breathing that little bit needed to let out a pleading scream for help.   
The rolling of eyes in their sockets, the only way left for the victim to express their desperation when their throats had been slain open and were throwing up fountains of blood.  

  
The lonely and tenderly slow sliding of a tear down on a face contorted in visceral pain)

  
while the other one was screeching at him about losing control in such a way at work - it all resulted in the most stupid sentence he could remember ever saying in the last year “Are you painting the roses red, 007?”

  
James snorted “Really, Alice in Wonderland?” he asked as he seemingly magicked a pristine white handkerchief from out a pocket of his suit and briskly wiped the blood away from his hands.

  
“You missed a spot on your forehead” Q pointed out, one hand tightening in a fist to the point that he was almost afraid that his knuckles would tear through the skin; the other remained faithfully poised on the keyboard, ready to respond if something suddenly went wrong.  

  
“Are you alright, Q? You’re panting” James pointed out, sucking on a clean corner of the tissue before he rubbed at a spot on his face where he could feel the itch of blood unpleasantly  drying on his skin “You’re not going to throw up, right? I mean, I know it’s a little messy but it’s not that bad”

  
Quite the contrary, I’m getting excited by your brutal display of strength and wouldn’t mind helping you out next time.

  
But he couldn’t exactly say that so, Q cleared his throat and unclenched his fist, forcing himself to take back control of his stupid body “No. I just cut myself, sorry” he lied through clenched teeth: later, he’d have to make sure he had a cut to match up to that story because surely Bond would want to check it once he came back.  

  
“Have you bandaged it?”

  
Q rolled his eyes “Yes, I have. I don’t need any mothering” even if it sent a frisson of warm pleasure down his spine: he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been cared for in such a way.  

  
“Should I remind you of that time you needed stitches and that, if not for me, you would have closed the wound with sellotape?” James teased.

  
“We agreed to never mention that again, James”


	25. 00q (au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brave New World au

The foetus peacefully floated in its artificial uterus, tiny and not yet completely formed fists hugged tightly to its chest almost as if trying to shield itself from inquiring gazes.

  
Really, Q should have stopped thinking about the foetus as an it: earlier that morning the doctor - she smiled too much, the dimples at the side of her mouth making the wrinkles on her skin seem deeper - had showed him that there was a boy growing in there.

  
As always, Q touched the glass walls of the tank with a mixture of wonder and revulsion boiling in his stomach, threatening to spill out of his body in a disgusting pool of vomit; his scientific mind couldn’t help being excited at such a proof of genetic engineering progress displayed in front of him, while another part of him screeched that it was an abomination and urged him to smash the glass - to kill it, before it was too late.

  
The foetus moved its head to approximately face Q, who barely suppressed a shiver from shaking his spine from nape to tailbone “I suppose that you can hear me” he whispered, even if he was sure that nobody would walk in on him.

  
James had never put a foot in the comfortably darkened room, claiming that he found the idea of watching his child - their child - grow in an artificial womb too creepy.   
Q couldn’t exactly blame him, he luckily agreed with his husband on most things.

  
For the last century or so, the government had employed an algorithm to arrange perfect marriages - genetically so, at least: nobody really cared about whether people actually got along and managed to be friends, if they didn’t learn to love each other.   
The quest to perfection - a balance of beauty and brains, according to the propaganda - was way more important.

  
At some point, thanks to more and more exciting discoveries in various medical fields, it was managed to completely manipulate a foetus’ genome: it had suddenly become possible to have beautiful and truly healthy babies, with rich people paying exorbitant amounts of money to have any genetic anomalies that their ancestors had inbred or that casualty had brought together removed from their children’s DNA and, since they were at it, why shouldn’t have they chosen the colour of their daughters’ hair and just how tall they wished their sons to be once puberty ended?

  
Things had kind of snowballed from there, according to the painfully vague history textbooks carefully censored by the government. A country’s supremacy stopped being a synonym of economic power or of great nuclear armaments - what use they had if the people were flawed? It made the status quo too much of a shaky thing, easily changed in favour of whoever had been dealt the best hand - but a population bred to perfection, or as close to it as geneticists dared, could make sure that supremacy was maintained for longer periods of time.   
A knock to the door shook Q from his musings “Yes?”

  
“Dinner is ready” came James’ voice from behind the door “Can I put it in the plates or do you need some time?”

  
Q glanced at the foetus; they really didn’t spend as much time with it as the pamphlets recommended, but it was kind of hard when your own child creeped you out. With a last caress to the warm glass, Q made his way to the door and opened it, smiling up brightly at James “No, I’m starving” he murmured, standing on his tiptoes to kiss the other man “What’s for dinner?”

  
James looped his arms around Q, tugging him closer to his chest “Stuffed squids” he answered when their kiss broke “And garlic bread” he added with a wink.

  
“Oh my, you do know the way to my heart”


	26. 00q (fluff)

Q was lazily curled on the warm deck, only a soft towel separated the sensitive skin of his belly from the polished wood made scalding hot by the sun relentlessly beating down on it.

  
With his chin buried in his palms, pinkie absentmindedly scratching at a spot on his jaw he had missed to shave, he followed James’ movements with half-lidded eyes.

  
His lover walked around gracefully, as confident as he was on land - completely unbothered by the rolling of the yacht, swinging at the swaying rhythm of the waves; personally, Q thought that James was showing off a bit, preening like the peacock that he was.

  
Not that Q minded: seeing James walk barefooted and shirtless on the deck, hair ruffled by the salty breeze and linen trousers showcasing his strong legs - well, it made something warm stir in his belly.   
Something that was a bizarre mixture of arousal and protectiveness.

  
“Having fun?” James inquired when he walked close to Q, casting his shadow over the younger man’s reddening back. He bent down, crouching on his haunches, determined to spread some more sunscreen cream on his skin before he could burn; he couldn’t remember whether they had packed aloe gel and James didn’t want Q to be in pain for their short, but very much needed, weekend off.

  
Q arched under the cool veil of the cream being massaged into his warm skin and he let out a pleased sound, half-hummed in the back of his throat “Immensely”

  
“I’m glad to hear that” James grinned, thumb pressing down into the divots at the base of Q’s spine “That’s the point of this vacation”   
The younger man sighed “It’s too short” he admitted, rolling belly up so that James could spread the sunscreen everywhere: he definitely didn’t want to get burnt - it would ruin his holiday “Next time I’m taking more days off”

  
James’ fingers caressed up Q’s torso, leaving a slightly pasty sheen behind “You won’t hear me complaining” he reassured, bending down to kiss his lips “I always want to spend time with you, my love”


	27. 00q (au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni au ft. Alec

James twirled his pencil and watched the young man sitting a couple of rows in front of him, easily recognisable thanks to the mop of unruly black curls that seemed to defy physics.

  
He had been asking some questions around - at first curious about how someone, who still should have been in high school, could already be in university.

  
Then, James had discovered that the kid was a Mathematics genius and he had started wondering about why he was taking English literature.

  
When he learnt that the younger man was known around campus only by his moniker, James was hopelessly enthralled with him.   
Q. The prodigy of the Mathematics and Engineering department, sitting primly at his desk while taking notes about Milton’s Paradise Lost .

  
He was a riddle waiting to be cracked open and unfurled in all his beauty.

  
Which was the reason why, when the professor dismissed the class, James hurriedly shoved his books in his bag and followed Q out of the room, holding up the younger man’s wallet that he had asked his best friend to pickpocket for him.

  
Thanks to Alec’s clever fingers, he already knew something new about Q - aka Gabriel Boothroyd, which made him the apparently secret son of the old Quantum Physics professor.

  
“Ehi!” James called out “Curly head!”

  
Q turned around, frowning behind the thick lenses of his glasses in an attempt at singling out who was calling for him - or so he presumed. His eyes zeroed in on a familiar blond guy, all muscles and big blue eyes that made his heart throb “Are you talking with me?”

  
James grinned “Do you see many curly heads around here?” He asked cheekily “This is yours, I think” he added, offering Q the wallet.

  
At the sight, Q’s eyes widened “Oh, thank you so much” he murmured, taking it back; he stomped on the itching need to check that everything was there and smiled up at the other man “It would have been a real problem if I lost this”

  
“No problem” James shrugged “By the way, I’m James Bond”

  
Q blinked, surprised by the friendliness exuding from the other “I’m Q”

  
“As in Q-tie?” James joked, chuckling at the impression of a gaping fish the younger man was making “Sorry, I can’t help myself”

  
“It’s okay” Q stammered, cursing the flush he could feel spreading just under the skin of his cheeks.

  
James winked “Well, I’ll see you around” he said, voice firm almost as if making a promise - as Alec would point out, a promise to basically stalk Q until he had him figured out.


	28. 00q (fluff)

Q looked up at the man standing in front of him, looking for all intent and purposes as if a car had ran him over twice “You look like shit” he uselessly pointed out “Come on, let’s go to Medical” he added, standing up from behind his desk to walk around it and prompt the agent to follow him.

  
James sneered, grunting when even the slightest movement pulled on the bruised muscles of his back “I’m not a dog”

  
“I never implied you are one” Q grinned and snapped his fingers, teasingly “Let’s go, boy”

  
The agent rolled his eyes, knowing that the younger man was purposefully, playfully riling him up to get his mind off of the pain. So, he followed - even if he didn’t want to go to Medical “I’m not that hurt”

  
“I’ll stop the doctors from healing you if there’s nothing serious, deal?” Q offered, shooting James a cheeky grin before pushing open the door to Medical.

  
They were made to wait in an office; James had let himself fall on a chair - instead of making use of the examination bed - while Q was slouched against the wall, arms crossed as he hummed absentmindedly to himself.

  
James sighed “They gripe about agents avoiding this place and, when we actually get in here, they make us wait”

  
Q chuckled and walked closer to the man “Be patient” he chided.

  
“To hell with patience” the agent growled.   
Before he could stand up, though, Q pushed down on his shoulder to keep him in the chair and bent down to chastely kiss his mouth “Stay”

  
James blinked “But you..”

  
“I kissed you, yes” Q rolled his eyes “We’ll talk about it later. Now, be still”


	29. 00q (nsfw)

Q felt James’ hand slip on his thigh but, judging the gesture innocent enough, he ignored it in favour of focusing on the threeway conversation he was having with Mallory - surprisingly well read about the finer points of mechanical engineering - and one of the Q-Branchers that he was currently dating - and yes, it had been quite the surprising discovery.

  
Saying that James was bored out of his skull, well, it would be an euphemism. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand a word of what they were saying - he might not have been that prepared on the topic of discussion, but he was getting the gist of it; the fact was, that Q’s attention was completely absorbed by the other couple.

  
And James didn’t like that.

  
Not at all.

  
When Q felt James’ hand press down more insistently on his thigh, he absentmindedly petted its back and glanced at him, trying to read whether there was something his partner needed to tell him.

  
It didn’t seem like that, though - Q observed, briefly watching James spear mussles on his fork and coaxing them in his mouth.

  
Which shouldn’t have made him flush like that, especially in front of one of his minions and their superior.

  
Drinking a sip of water to hide his flustered reaction, Q focused back on the conversation - until James’ hand slipped higher up his thigh and unashamedly cupped his crotch.

  
“Are you alright, Gabriel?” Mallory inquired when Q choked on his water, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

  
Under the pretence of gently patting Q’s back, James leaned closer and pushed harder against his partner’s stirring cock “Deep breaths” he murmured “Take another sip of water, love”

  
The cheek! Q couldn’t believe it: the bastard was encouraging him to drink more while he was still fondling him! Though, his throat was torturing him; Q took a deep breath and took a careful sip “I’m sorry” he apologised, smiling sheepishly as he tried to put some space between him and James.

  
The agent had been at the wrong end of that pointy elbow one time too many so, he was kind of desensitized to the sharp pain in his ribs “You need to be more careful” he tutted, thumb pressing down the head of Q’s cock as he took his sweet time to kiss his cheek.

  
“He’s right boss” the minion - Andrew? - grinned “Gareth would be so much more stressed if you weren’t there to rein the Double-Ohs in”

  
“Nice to know that’s the reason why I’ll be missed” Q grunted, firmly lodging his elbow into James’ liver.

  
After a last grope, James sat back in his place with his hands on the table “You have a great talent, love”

  
Q glared at the other man: he’d learn to never do something like that again in public, oh yes.


	30. 00q (fluff)

James sat in front of the window, a tumbler full of scotch clenched in his hand so hard that his knuckles whitened and the scrapes that had just started to clot themselves closed reopened.

  
Q joined him and swapped the alcohol for a warm mug of ginger tea with honey before quietly sitting next to him, watching the rain fall.

  
“It’s soothing” James said out of the blue, voice scratchy that it was painful even just hearing it.

  
Q could have thought that he was talking about the tea - especially with those bruises blossoming around his neck where an enemy agent had choked him - but he hadn’t even took a sip yet so, Q presumed that he was talking about the rain “I can see why” he agreed “It’s like a blanket has fallen on the city, muffling every molesting noise”

  
James hummed and subtly leaned closer to Q, letting their shoulders touch in the artificial twilight of their flat “You’re not fond of rain, though” he prompted, appreciating the lulling quality of Q’s voice talking about something as inconsequential as the weather.

  
Q shrugged, the soft wool of his sweater brushing against James’ naked bicep “When I know I don’t have to get out of our nice and cosy flat, I don’t mind it”

  
Silence fell again between them but it was less charged of nervous tension and James slid even closer, head resting in the crook of Q’s neck. He felt stupid for needing the quiet comfort and the platonic physical contact; after years in his line of work, he should have learnt that nobody would even thank him for risking his life.

  
And it had been so close - so very close to being snapped by a pair of hands mercilessly squeezing down on his trachea.

  
It wasn’t the idea of dying that bothered James - he had come to terms with that: what he found difficult dealing with was the absolute coldness of his superiors.

  
The way they seemed to think that it was something James was expected to do without questioning or doubting - not a sacrifice.

  
Q got that and James loved him for it.   
When the younger man’s fingers started to card through his short hair, James sighed in pleasure and snuggled closer, half-lidded eyes watched the rain fall while he listened to the steady beating of Q’s heart “I love you”

  
“Me too” Q answered. No hesitation. No frills. Just the pure and unadulterated truth “Now drink your tea, it will do your throat good”


	31. angbang (nsfw)

Mairon lazily stretched next to Melkor’s body, burrowing deeper into the mattress and the warmth coming off of his lover “’m cold” he moaned and squeezed his eyes shut in displeasure, his feet hopelessly tugging at the sheets that had ended up tangled at the foot of the bed.

  
Trying to shut him up before the complaining got too much, Melkor curled around Mairon’s body and leaned in to kiss him, avoiding his mouth since he wasn’t keen on being lectured about morning breath. He trailed his lips along his neck, tracing the blue veins with the tip of his tongue, tasting the sex they had had the night before on his flesh while his fingers toyed with a pierced nipple, carefully tugging at the golden ring stubbed into the peaked and rosy flesh.

  
A contented hum almost resembling a purr left Mairon’s vocal chords as Melkor’s mouth descended lower on his body, devotedly kissing the hollow of his throat and nibbling at the edges of his collarbones before laving at the still untouched nipple, sucking slowly and insistently on the hardening nub in a way that made heat rise to the surface of his skin, painting it a rusty shade of pink.

  
Melkor lowered his head and sunk his teeth in the tender flesh of the upper edge of Mairon’s belly button before dipping his tongue in, absentmindedly noticing that Mairon had removed that piercing for some obscure reason - it had probably been annoying him the previous afternoon during sparring with Gothmog and forgot to put it back after practice was over. He trailed soft bites down to Mairon’s slightly thrusting pelvis, till his nose brushed it and was tickled by the accurately trimmed golden curls at the base of the Maia’s slender cock; there, the heavy tang of sex was heavier and more intoxicating, making Melkor’s half-erection stiff into full hardness “You smell so good"

  
Mairon huffed a laugh “I probably stink but get on with it, please: I’m still cold”

  
Melkor rolled his eyes at the bossiness in his voice, but obeyed and trailed his lips against the velvety flesh of Mairon’s manhood, just spreading a bit of saliva along the warm shaft and teasingly avoiding its shiny head peeking from the foreskin. He exhaled over the trails of saliva, enjoying to watch Mairon twitch and squirm just because of his breath.

  
“Mel” The nickname left Mairon’s pouty lips in a discomforted whine and Melkor darted his tongue over the head of his cock, dipping it in the slit to gather the beading precum, rolling it appreciatively on his taste buds: Mairon’s essence tasted only vaguely bitter and was far more pleasant than his own “Please” the Maia added.

  
The Vala smiled up at his lover, taking in the messy curls and slightly dozy and bewildered irises, while enveloping the head in his mouth, firmly wrapping his lips around it and sucking vigorously, wringing out more precum. As Mairon trashed beneath him, he steadily slid his mouth lower, relaxing his throat to completely engulf his whole length and hollowing his cheeks, making the moistness of his mouth tighter. He bobbed his head, sucking and licking, while his thumbs caressed the delicate skin of his scrotum and massaged the sensitive spot behind his balls, wringing cries and keens from Mairon’s lips.

  
The Maia came as one of Melkor’s thumbs slid to caress the tight muscles of his opening, flooding his throat with copious come “Are you warm now?” Melkor inquired, lazily bringing himself off with short tugs at his cock.

  
Mairon hummed sleepily, observing with half-lidded eyes Melkor’s come paint his own stomach “Since you’re down there, bring up the sheets”


	32. angbang (light angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MILDLY GRAPHIC INJURY DESCRIPTION

Melkor’s fingers frantically fluttered against the gaping wound on Mairon’s neck, coating them with crimson blood as he tried to stop its flow despite the fact he could actually see the torn edges of that pale flesh mend themselves back together.

  
One of Mairon’s hands unsteadily came up to weakly grasp his fingers “L-let my-my body h-heal” he coughed out, voice raspy and breathless as his chest quickly rose and fell to fill his lungs with as much air as possible.

  
Melkor stilled his useless gestures and started caressing the Maia’s hair, efficiently and gently getting rid of the tangles and clumped blood in it “Shh, don’t talk” he shushed him and pressed a quick kiss against a temple coated with cold sweat. He breathed in the scent of honey and lavender that usually clung to his Lieutenant and wrinkled his nose when the stench of bloodied dust and fatigue assaulted his nostrils “My Little Flame, what did they do to you?”

  
Mairon’s mouth crinkled into a small smile as he squeezed his hand, trying to convey reassurance and love to the Vala worrying over him as if he was on his deathbed - which he wasn’t, not anymore.

  
Melkor sighed and kissed that smile, caressing those satiny lips with his own in a chaste whisper “I almost lost you, Little Flame” His voice was roughened by grief and barely contained sobs. Once again he kissed Mairon’s mouth that eagerly opened for his tongue: the taste of honey and ripe fruit was easily detectable despite the heavy tang of blood and it reassured Melkor of the stable condition of his beloved.

  
Mairon’s tongue slowly caressed the Vala’s, coaxing it deeper in the moistness of his mouth and inviting it to make sure he was alright.

  
“I love you so much, Little Flame”


	33. angbang (h/c)

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?“

  
The atmosphere was strangely cheery in Angband; the cold air resonated with laughter and the rough clinking of glasses one against the other, spilling sticky liquors on the floor.

  
Melkor was gloomily perched on his throne, electric blue eyes glaring murderously at the couple foolishly dancing on a table at the rhythm of a vaguely obscene song some Balrogs were raucously singing - the festivities were completely ruined for him and he was seriously considering of never again throwing a party.

  
His pupils followed the sway of Mairon’s hips, the tight leather of his trousers clinging to his pert bottom and long legs; it would have been an enticing sight if Gothmog’s strong arm wasn’t encircling his waist, hand dipping to caress his tailbone.

  
A particularly rude line was sang and Mairon let out a shrilly laugh and stumbled upon a plate of honey cakes, eliciting some groans from his friends. Gothmog caught him in an embrace, keeping the Maia from falling face first on the messy and untidy table, and twirled him.

  
As Mairon was turned around and spotted Melkor’s face, he shot him a cheeky smile and waved with his hand. When the Vala managed to just smirk back, a frown darkened that beautiful face; Melkor felt vaguely guilty for spoiling the fun with his mood, but it wasn’t his fault if he was a possessive bastard.

  
Mairon loosened the embrace with his best friend, nodding sharply in the vague direction of the throne, and took leave from his improvised stage.

  
“Are you alright?” he asked as soon as he climbed the steps to the throne. 

  
Melkor patted his legs, quietly asking the Maia to sit in his lap “I’m good” Much more so since now he was the one with his arms around his waist.

  
Fiery-golden eyes peered down at him, suspicion etched on exquisitely sculpted features “You don’t look like you’re having fun”

  
Melkor shrugged and hugged him closer to his chest, possessively caressing a jutting hipbone and inhaling the honey-and-lavander scent of his crimson hair while glaring briefly at Gothmog, who was observing them curiously.

  
Mairon didn’t miss the look “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

  
The Vala looked up at him with an innocent smile plastered all over his mouth “Me? Jealous?”

  
The Maia groaned and dropped a loving kiss on the other’s forehead “Fuck’s sake.. You know he’s just my best friend”

  
“Who was pawing at you in front of everyone” Melkor added bitterly.

  
Mairon heaved a deep sigh “Want me to dance with you?” he inquired with a seductive voice, every word heavy like dripping syrupy liquor.

  
“Is it a figure of speech for ‘fucking’?”

  
A fond laugh escaped the Maia’s throat “Yes!” He stood up and tugged at one of his lover’s hands “Come on, let me show you how Gothmog doesn’t get to see me dance”


	34. angbang (h/c)

Mairon cringed as he watched Melkor stalk out of the torture chambers, cursing loudly in Black Speech and scowling darkly at everyone who dared to cross his path, electric blue eyes shining like a thundering storm and a wolf-like snarl twisting his mouth.

  
It wasn’t often that Melkor was such in a bad mood: between them, he was the more temperamental and prone to throwing tantrums. It meant that there was something really huge troubling him, especially considering the fact he usually left the torturing of prisoners to him.

  
Straightening his deep burgundy robe as if he was checking his armour to dive into a battle, Mairon sighed and started to follow the enraged Vala, sending reassuring glances and tight smiles to whomever he encountered; the Balrogs’ grateful grins and the Orcs’ tears of relief would have been amusing, hadn’t he been so worried for his lover.

  
Never losing sight of the billowing black cape - a feat in itself, considering Angband wasn’t the most enlightened place in Arda - Mairon climbed the steps leading to the top of one of the fortress’ many towers, raising the starch and flowery embroidered collar of his robe to protect his throat from the cold he could already feel seeping in his bones. Those moments, when the harsh icy winds blew through the high terraces of Angband, were the ones that made Mairon long for his forges or for cuddling in front of a fireplace with his wolves.

  
“What are you doing uphere?!” Melkor spat out his gritted teeth as soon as he spotted the shivering Maia standing behind him. Annoyed, he strode to him and enveloped that fragile and lithe frame in his arms, tucking the heavy cloak around those lightly freckled shoulders “You’re not appropriately dressed for this climate” he pointed out; he loved Mairon’s garments - they were all designed to outline his perfect body and complement his pale complexion without clashing with his crimson hair - but most of the time they were utterly useless against the cold.

  
Mairon shrugged and buried his already reddening nose in the Vala’s warm chest, inhaling the scent of leather and rust “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking up at him from under his ginger lashes, knowing well that Melkor couldn’t resist when he looked at him like that.

  
“You stalked me only because you thought I’m not well?” Melkor’s voice dripped with exasperation but he still bent down to kiss that slightly frowning forehead, swiping away a curl with his gloved hands.

  
The Maia tilted his head up to claim more attention and was quickly rewarded with a kiss on his freezing lips - absentmindedly, he wondered whether they were turning blue “Of course: I care for your wellbeing”

  
Melkor smiled “Thank you, Little Flame” He bestowed another kiss on that sinfully plush mouth and frowned when it sent a shiver of cold down his spine “We need to go back inside” he ordered, not wanting for his beautiful lover to catch a cold: despite being a Maiar, therefore somewhat immune to most diseases, Mairon had always been particularly sensitive when it came to freezing temperatures.

  
They hurried down the steps of the tower, still huddled together under the same cloak, and made their way to their chambers where the fireplace was always alight and warming wine was easily retrievable.

  
“You still haven’t answered me” Mairon made the Vala notice as he was ushered on the gigantic bed and promptly wrapped in warm furs.

  
Melkor sighed “You won’t leave me alone ‘till I speak, will you?” A dazzling grin was his mute answer “I still have nightmares… About the time I spent in the Halls of Mandos” he confessed, loathing himself for being so weak. But the mere remembrance of the neverending silence buzzing in his ears, of the infinite emptiness filling his eyes and of the constant searing pain of the chains restraining every single movement of his body, made his whole being shake with despair - only the precious memories of his Little Flame had kept him somewhat sane.

  
The Maia smiled sadly and reached for Melkor, pulling him down on the duvet and in the safe circle of his subtly muscled arms “It’s okay to have nightmares: they don’t make you weak” he comforted him, fingers carding through his inky black strands “I still dream of drowning in that lake, jolting awake with the feeling of water burning in my lungs” he offered.

  
“Don’t remind me of the event, please” Melkor asked, shuddering violently. The fear of watching the ice cracking under Mairon’s feet and swallowing him up still made him frantic with worry and grief “Sing to me?”

  
It started low and deep, a soft humming that Melkor more perceived through the vibrations transmitted to his body than actually heard, and that picked up slowly as Mairon warmed his voice. As the soothing tune started to shape in articulated and wonderful arabesques of music, Melkor lost himself in the melody, completely concentrated on searching for the main theme amidst all the frills and virtuosismi the Maia was so fond of. Gradually, his muscles unclenched and the black cloud of rage and self-hatred dissolved like Mairon’s voice in the air, adding to the complicated composition, twisting itself with the sweet and loving words dedicated to him.

  
He closed his eyes and cuddled closer to his Little Flame, burying himself in the scents of lavender and honey that he would forever link to his lover “I love you”

  
The song melted in a lullaby, whispering of love in his ears, chasing away the silence of the Halls of Mandos.


	35. angbang (fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must have written their reunion a thousand times

The Void is a gnawing, restless and ever-expanding thick darkness smelling of stale dust and resonating with haunting and distorted cries. It’s an emptiness eating its way through the poor souls cast into it, greedily sucking away their brightness in a way that reminds Mairon of Ungoliant’s deeds.

  
He stands quietly just by the forever bolted threshold, a hand nervously caressing the Door Of Night and simmering irises staring at the shadows swirling obnoxiously like smoke, sizzling like water on a scalding surface when they encounter the reddish-orange light shining from his burning hair - a flaming torch in the dark promising salvation.

  
A dark figure slowly emerges from the shadows, that grip him tightly as if wanting to keep him from reaching the beacon of light Mairon has become in the Void. The Maia takes some stuttering steps towards the desperate silhouette that looks so much like Melkor’s, inspecting it carefully and making sure no tendrils of darkness wrap around his limbs.

  
Blue eyes look at him; they have been dulled by the captivity in the dark but they still gleam with wit and a special kind of adoration Mairon has forgotten “Little Flame” The Vala’s voice is rough and scratchy like sand over wood, echoing with incredulity and hope.

  
Mairon’s steps become surer and in no time he’s in front of Melkor, finally freed by the darkness as he’s bathed into his light “Mel”

  
“You burn so bright” Melkor sighs a compliment that used to leave his lips quite often with the same ardor he had felt back when they ruled the world.

  
“I missed you so much” Mairon sobs, feeling the weight of centuries spent in loneliness crushing his bones and cutting his breath short “So much, Mel”

  
They reach for one another at the same moment, limbs twining together in a desperate and choking embrace and mouths crashing on against the other with the force of waves bearing down the beach when the sea is at war with the earth; it’s like becoming whole again as the familiar taste of their saliva mixing caresses their tongues and the feel of long-ago explored crannies come back to the senses.

  
They lose themselves in the darkness, burning together in a roaring bonfire that melts their body away, stripping them as naked as the day their Maker brought them to life, essences mixing together in an unbreakable union.   
  



	36. angbang (light angst)

Melkor silently slipped into the forge, blue eyes searching for the fair form of his Lieutenant working hard on one of his innumerable projects; he found him silhouetted against the fire, hair burning with the same intensity of the flames that framed him and cast orange shadow all around the room and fiery eyes delightedly fixed on the piece of metal coming to life under his talented fingers. The Vala smiled softly: it made him happy, witnessing Mairon in his element and excited about creating.

  
He paced towards him, drinking in the gorgerousness of those almost otherwordly and alien features that constantly arranged into different configurations under the thin veil of milky pale skin, morphing that face according to the emotion cursing through his veins; it was an opennes that Melkor had always found enthralling, especially since Mairon only allowed it when he was ensconced into the depths of his forges or in their bed.

  
The Vala recognized the moment Mairon perceived his approaching presence: delicate and pointy ears seemed to perk up from the raging fire burning like a halo around his face and sudden stillness pervaded his graceful limbs. Slowly, simmering irises looked up and a smile blossomed over those plump and inviting lips “Mel”

  
“Little Flame” Melkor greeted back, quickly shortening the distance between them, hopelessly tugged closer by the burning brightness that was his beloved: nothing shone with more intensity than his Maia - not Telperion or Laurelin, not the Silmarils, not the Sun or the Moon, not the thousands stars Varda had stitched on the velvety fabric of the sky. It hurt him, the idea that doom was coming and he would never be able to once again bathe into the pure light radiating from Mairon - his hatred for the other Valar, so hell-bent on separating them, only increased as worry slowly seeped into Mairon’s eyes and his smile withered like a recided flower.

  
“Are we moving war?” he asked, grim determination hardening the beautiful edge of his cheekbones and dimpling a frown between his chieseled eyebrows.

  
Melkor nodded and bent down, his mouth tenderly covering the other’s in a tender caress that soon turned moist and warm, unchaste and heated, a desperate tangling of tongues and mingling of tastes - a broken apology and reassurance together.

  
They would never kiss again.


	37. angbang (relationship study)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The seduction of Mairon

Mairon looked up at the Vala, quietly studying the way his strongly masculine features morphed as his speech became increasingly animated and warmer, intent on seducing his brain into agreeing with him - not that Melkor truly needed to make an effort to enchant Mairon. Whenever they were in the same room, the Maia couldn’t help focusing on him, greedily drinking in the details nobody cared to notice: the way his black hair was highlighted with a deep shade of midnight-blue whenever he was particularly content; the little frown in the middle of his smooth forehead when thoughts of his brother troubled him; the perfect dimple at the left corner of his mouth that appeared only those few and precious times he was genuinely smiling; the intensity with which he stared at the stars as if reading the future, fingers twitching with vague discomfort mixed with wonderment.

  
Mairon knew Melkor well and he craved to expand his knowledge in every way possible.

At night, he often tossed in his lonely bed, tangling his limbs with the soft sheets, relentlessly wondering about the so many things he still didn’t know about the object of his fascination: the texture of his pale skin and luscious hair; the taste lingering in his mouth and in the hidden crevices of his toned body; the smell of his flesh just after a bath, still untainted by the world’s stench; the tone of his voice when in the throes of passion - forbidden desires he shouldn’t have harboured in his soul. Not only Melkor was considered evil by everyone else - therefore an unsuitable partner - but there was also the fact that Illuvatar hadn’t planned for his creations to lust after beings of the same sex.

  
Worse: Mairon was sadly sure that sometime during the last decades, his mere physical and kind of scientifical desire had evolved into desperate and needy love, shadowed by a veil of worship and enthralment. He had tried to snap out of it, drowning himself in the company of other exquisitely beautiful Maiar and in the rewarding fatigue of his craft, but a part of his mind had always stayed deeply focused on Melkor.

  
“Are you even listening to me, Little Flame?” the Vala inquired with a deeply amused voice, electric-blue irises sparkling with mirth as his mouth slowly twisted into an impish grin.

  
Mairon felt his flesh heat and vividly imagined the blush that was certainly blossoming on his cheeks and down his neck; even if the temptation was strong, he didn’t try stopping it from reddening the milky paleness of his skin: he didn’t want his hair to start burning like a festive bonfire “Of course” The lie elegantly rolled down his tongue, its way eased by practice.

  
Melkor tutted “You clearly were lost in your little world” he lightly reproached, gently tapping a fingertip against the Maia’s temple “Which thought had your mind so engrossed?”

  
“Nothing in particular” Mairon dismissively shrugged “I was just chasing ghosts”

  
“Won’t you tell me what kind of ghosts?”

Melkor’s voice had a well-hidden pleading quality to it, made stronger by the way he subtly crowded Mairon’s personal space “You know I’m always here for you, Little Flame”  
Those words made the Maia smile brilliantly - a kind of smile Melkor had often compared to the burning brightness of fire “I know, Mel”

His long and calloused fingers indulged in a caress, testing the cold smoothness of the Vala’s skin “It’s nothing to worry about” They were so close that, as they spoke, Mairon couldn’t help staring at Melkor’s mouth, noticing how thin and dry his lips seemed to be and desired to moisten them with a quick lap of his tongue; the mental image sent shivers down his spine and he had to close his eyes in order to keep his body from violently shuddering.

  
When he reopened them, Melkor’s face was nearer and his warm breath, spiced with cinnamon and something Mairon couldn’t recognise, gently caressed his skin. He gazed into the Vala’s eyes, trying to divinate what was going on behind them, but came up desperately clueless: he could simply stay still and wait as Melkor made his decision.  
“Have I ever complimented your beauty?”

  
“Several times” Mairon whispered his answer somewhat hoarsely.

  
Melkor leaned in as if to hear him better, tilting his head to the side so that their lips were murmuring one against the other “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  
The Maia slowly shook his head, his breath stuttering on the other’s mouth.

  
“Is it possible that your ghosts would be of this nature?” Melkor inquired while draping a hand on the side of Mairon’s heated neck, a silent command to keep still.

  
“Perhaps” It was barely an admission, but that exhaling that word was enough to make his blood boil through his veins.

  
Apparently Melkor didn’t need further confirmation and slotted their mouths together into a chaste kiss that made flames sprout from Mairon’s hair and put blue highlights into Melkor’s.

  
“This is… Prohibited” Mairon weakly pointed out as he dug his nails in the tender flesh of Melkor’s clothed hips, keeping him as close as possible.

  
“Who cares?” Another tender kiss was shared.

  
“Rules.. They are there for a reason” Mairon stammered, leaning in to brush once again Melkor’s lips against his own.

  
“To cage you” Were Melkor’s last words before he licked Mairon’s lips, coaxing them open gently and without haste, wanting to savor the other’s heady taste and simmering,  slick warmth “Let me set you free, Little Flame”


	38. angbang (fluff)

As Melkor heard Mairon excitedly make his way in their chambers, he raised his eyes to look at him, taking in the delirious happiness in his fiery irises and the light flush staining his milky cheekbones “Are you alright, Little Flame?” he asked, studying his ruffled appearance so in contrast with his usual perfectly coiffed poise and gracefulness; not even when they had been young and careless, Mairon had appeared so joyous.

  
Mairon nodded almost frantically “Close your eyes” he said, smiling so brightly that even Varda’s stars couldn’t behold confront “Please” he added, awkwardly nodding at the hands he kept hidden behind his back “I’ve got a surprise for you”

  
Melkor smiled softly and obliged, straining his ears to hear Mairon’s soft steps approach the bed, almost silent on the thick carpet covering the stony floor. When the mattress slightly dipped by his right hip, he turned his head towards the Maia who, after a fleeting kiss bestowed on his hipbone, climbed on top of him and settled on his lap “Can I look now?”

  
“Yes, you can” Mairon’s voice was giddy and as warm and gooey as honey.

  
The Vala peeled his eyes open slowly, lazily blinking up at his lover and smiling at him before focusing on the offering resting on his toned abs, lovingly cradled by Mairon’s long fingers: a baby dragon was rubbing its snout against Mairon’s soft skin, chafing it slightly with its scales, and fluttered its membraneous wings in evident pleasure. Melkor looked at it with eyes widening in surprise and enchantment, utterly fascinated by the cuddly creature that had just hatched its egg in the depths of Angband “It’s so tiny”

  
Mairon nodded and cooed at the dragon that blindly followed his voice as if it already recognized it “Isn’t it marvelous?”

  
Melkor slowly caressed the dragon’s spiky and still flexible back with an hesitant digit “Perfect, just like you”


	39. angbang (fluff)

Mairon distrustfully glanced at Melkor, nibbling on his lower lip and sucking on the tender flesh in order to soothe the pain while his mind fretted nervously on the risks of plunging himself in the still and frightening-looking waters of the lake: it was a perspective that didn’t appeal him at all - certainly not like a hot and bubbly bath.

He was so focused on worrying that Melkor’s whispery caress against the bare skin of his shoulder came as a surprise, making his whole body jerk away from the unexpected touch.

  
Melkor frowned, a deep line marring the expanse of his smooth forehead “You need to calm down, Mairon” He so approached the Maia again, slowly and with his arms wide open, not wanting to make him feel trapped in his embrace “It’s just water”

  
Mairon took a deep breath and snuggled into the Vala’s arms, sniffing the subtle odor of his skin hiding under the musk scent of sex that made him wrinkle his nose “It looks… dead” he sentenced, shrugging as if he perfectly knew how silly he had sounded: water wasn’t alive.

  
“Do you trust me?” Melkor inquired, dropping a feathery kiss on his mussed curls “I swear it’s not worse than taking a bath - maybe not as enjoyable since the water is not warm but in no way horrible” he assured, squeezing the lithe frame of his lover against his chest.

  
Mairon glanced again at the lake and shivered “Only if you promise not letting me go once we’re in”

  
The Vala smiled softly and picked Mairon up, ignoring his disapproving squeal as his feet lost contact with the pillowy grass. He carried him into the water, keeping him close as it started lapping at their sweaty and tired limbs; he could feel Mairon tremble at that slimy and icy caress. He stood still until he could feel the tremors subside and Mairon’s body slightly go limp in his hold “See? Nothing to worry about, love”


	40. angbang (fluff)

Mairon didn’t turn around to see who was sneaking up on him, his sensitive ears immediately recognizing the rhythm with which those soft steps fell to the ground. Melkor clasped his strong and muscled arms around his waist, holding him in a tight and comforting grip and propped his chin on one of his shoulders, thin lips fluttering a quivering kiss on the tender skin of his neck “Have you decided yet?”

  
Mairon shook his head, careful of not hitting the Vala with an ungraceful movement.

  
“Care to tell me your doubts? What’s keeping you here, beloved?” he inquired, his knuckles skating along the Maia’s ribs in a tender caress.

  
“Nothing. Everything.”

  
“You’re afraid”

  
Mairon shrugged “Maybe, I don’t like jumping in the dark”

  
“But you’re miserable here” Melkor reasoned, twining their fingers together and squeezing Mairon’s calloused hand “You could be so happy in Arda, building our empire”

  
They stood quietly by the cliff, observing the waves crashing and splitting against the black cutting rocks and holding onto each other.


	41. mairon & yavanna (slice of life)

Mairon watched Yavanna stir the soup happily bubbling away in the pot while whistling a cheerful tune and gently swaying her hips to the rhythm, feet lightly tapping on the wooden floor and curls tickling her ebony-colored naked shoulders: how could she act so obscenely happy even when preparing dinner for guests she didn’t particularly like, Mairon couldn’t even start to understand.

  
He knew she disapproved of his relationship with Melkor, even if she hadn’t voiced her disapproval as loudly as her husband, and he had observed how deeply uncomfortable Varda made her. Truthfully, she could barely bear Manwë’s company who, while a bit annoying and full of himself, wasn’t as bad as Melkor professed.

  
Mairon sighed and got up from his chair and stood behind her, fingers reaching in the knotted hair to make a sense of it with expertise.

  
“Thank you, love” Yavanna smiled and kept cooking, chopping vegetables and adding diced meat to the soup to make it thicker and more nourishing.

  
Mairon shrugged, but bent down to dutifully kiss a high and satiny cheekbone “Why are you doing all of this?” he inquired, briefly gesturing at the stove “You don’t care much for them” he added.

  
Yavanna turned around slowly, giving Mairon the time to disentangle his digits so he wouldn’t tug at her hair and inadvertently hurt her scalp “I care about you” she stated, hands on her hips and pitch-black eyes looking up at him, shining with disarming tenderness and sincerity “Sometimes bringing joy is enough - especially to your loved ones”

  
Mairon frowned and sighed again “I don’t understand”

  
Yavanna stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek “I think you do, love. Bringing Melkor happiness doesn’t make you feel satisfied?” she asked cheekily before loading Mairon’s arms with plates, silently asking him to dress the table.

  
In the future, everytime Mairon looked at the mirror and only saw Sauron reflected in it, he would rethink about her words an admit to himself that bringing joy to Melkor was what mattered the most to him - who cared about sanity anyway?


	42. mairon & aulë (slice of life)

Mairon smiled thinly at Aulë as he scuttled to his worktable, tugging at the collar of his robe to cover his bruised neck “Apologies for my lateness” he whispered, casting down his fiery irises to focus on the half-finished necklace he had designed for Yavanna resting in front of him, raw and beautiful with the pale glimmering of moonstones and precious with the thick gold weaved around them and bright emeralds.

  
Aulë frowned “What caused it?” he enquired, voice booming throughout the forges and attracting the other Maiar’s malicious attention.

  
Mairon briefly glared at Curumo, who wasn’t even pretending of working while listening on their private conversation and eagerly waited for the following words “I overslept” Mairon lied smoothly, laying out his tools.

  
Aulë’s gaze darkened, fixing on the Maia’s pale and bruised neck “Make sure to tell your bedwarmer not to keep you from your duties next time”

  
“Yes sir” the Maia muttered, strands of hair starting to simmer and burn with the heavyweight of disapproval and shame poured on him. 


	43. silverfisting (pre-slash)

Tyelpe didn’t make an habit of following people around at night, haunting the streets in his night robes like a ghostly shadow, hiding skilfully in the lingering darkness that pooled thickly at the corners of the houses and in the gardens, sliding over the stony paths with a barely whispering stride - but Annatar was special.

  
He always was so primly courteous and polite, devoted to his craft in a way that reminded Celebrimbor of the fantastic tales about his Atar - it irked him, especially whenever Annatar would waste a smile on some stranger or would let curious children play with hair so golden that could have rivalled with that of Lady Galadriel.

  
So, he quietly stalked to his apartment and observed him shed his garments, revealing milky skin and lean muscles; he stood crouched under a window and smelled the enticing fragrance of lavender and honey waft out as Annatar bathed himself - only to get dressed again in flattering and shimmering robes barely hidden by a cape and walk away from his home, suspiciously striding towards the thick of the forest.

  
Tyelpe needed to know what prodded Annatar to disappear in the wilderness at night, alone without a weapon to defend himself from the beasts revelling in the chaotic and virgin darkness - and so he followed, as silent as the whispering breeze that made the edges of Annatar’s cape flutter around his calves.

  
He was slower and way less graceful than Annatar, who walked in the forest with the same self-assurance Oromë would have showed, disappearing behind trees and becoming one with the pulsating dark.

  
When he managed to catch up with him, Tyelpe found himself in a clearing looking at a Warg placidly wrapped around Annatar’s legs, butting its snout against those long fingers in a silent request for more scratching. Irises as warm as caramel observed him with dry amusement “I didn’t notice your presence until we reached the edge of the forest” His voice was coloured with surprise and a vague hint of irritation “Congratulations, it takes a skill” he praised before kneeling on the mossy ground and cuddling the Warg “I’m looking forward making your acquaintance”

  
Tyelpe stood still, pinned by the sharp feeling of having Annatar’s focus all for himself for the first time: it was elating, a sensation he would never tire of. 


	44. silverfisting (nsfw)

Tyelpe definitely was a sight to behold with his sinewy muscles and honey-hued skin, pleasant features strategically well arranged on the canvas of his gentle face and the luscious waterfall of inky- black hair.  
Really, he wasn’t his ugliest lover by far - that honorary place was still firmly held by Ar-Pharazôn, who had also been a horrible lay.

  
Of course, he didn’t hold a candle to Melkor’s magnificence - nobody ever would.

  
Before Celebrimbor could notice his detachment from their lovemaking, Annatar bent down, blonde strands caressing tight pectorals and mouth kissing slightly parted and wet lips. He teased them open with the tip of his tongue, diving in to taste the spicy tang of the fruity wine they had had at supper.

  
Tyelpe purred, delighted by the attention and wound his muscled thighs around his waist, the heels of his feet digging in the small of his back, silently pleading for more friction between their unclothed groins “Ah, Annatar” The sigh strangely echoed throughout the empty chamber.

  
Annatar smiled sweetly, lying even with his warm irises, and lowered his head to circle those flat and dark nipples with the broad of his tongue, titillating them into hardness with the light scraping of his taste buds and enjoying the vague taste of sweat clinging to that silky skin. He sucked on the peaked nubs before focusing his attention on the sparse curls furrowing his chest, nuzzling in their manly coarseness “My dear Tyelpe” His voice escaped his throat in a low and purring note that he had copied from Melkor’s register “You’re a work of art, wrought from the strongest metal”

  
A full-body shiver wracked the body trapped inbetween his chest and the soft mattress, dipping significantly under their combined weights “Flatterer” he huffed together with a chuckle.

  
Annatar smiled against his muscles, kissing above the steady thrumming of his heart. Possessively, he splayed a long-fingered hand on his left pectoral, shiny with his saliva and flushed with the attention of his pointed teeth, lazily flicking his thumb against his nipple “I know the depths of your heart”

  
Shorter and calloused digits entwined with his own “It’s yours, Annatar - yours to do as you please”


	45. angbang ( relationship study)

Discovering pleasure with Melkor had been a long and tortuous ride, one that at the beginning had frightened the innocent and pure Maia: the concept of exploiting his fana to set his essence on fire with bliss was still a foreign one when the first time the Mighty Arising’s fingers had caressed his inexplicably quivering bottom lip.

  
There had been tentative caresses that had made his pale skin blush so heavily that its redness could rival with the shade of his hair; there had been carefully slow massages to unknot his tensed shoulders after hours spent bent on his workbench, slaving in the simmering heat of the forges; there had been barely there kisses fluttering over his face and on his throat; there had been daring and wandering hands gripping his hips and fondling his privates.

  
And then there had been the wet and hot caresses of Melkor’s tongue, drawing searing paths along his skin and pushing cinnamon-tasting saliva in his mouth, mingling their essences together. Nothing - not even the fucking - compared to the intimate feeling of the Vala’s tongue probing his moist cavern, lazily stroking its roof and carefully mapping every single ridge of his mouth.


	46. silverfisting (relationship study)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HINTS AT TOXIC RELATIONSHIP 
> 
> (All regular for silverfisting tho lol)

Tyelpe spends a lot of time staring at Annatar, hovering behind his shoulder to better admire those skilful fingers seduce impassive metal into works of art - those same fingers that played him like an instrument, wringing embarrassing moans and prayers for more from his throat mottled with bruises.

  
He patiently waits for acknowledgement, for scraps of his attention while seething and wondering about why must that otherworldly creature be so cruel to him? Celebrimbor worships the ground Annatar walks upon, cherished every single smile to grace those thin and rosy lips - he doesn’t care whether they are twisted into cruel and mocking smirks or smug grins.

  
And when he’s rewarded with a barely there kiss on his forehead just before a rough bout of lovemaking, Tyelpe feels grateful as he stares into those beautiful eyes that seem to burn only for him.


	47. angbang (slightly nsfw)

Melkor found it impossible to name which parts of Mairon’s body would be his favorite - the crimson curls framing his cherubic face, the high and cutting cheekbone, his sinful lips made to seduce every breathing being walking upon Arda, his pert bottom, his miles long and shapely legs.

  
So gorgeous. So perfect.

  
His to please as he wanted.

  
Melkor bent down to kiss Mairon’s throat, tasting the light tang of his sweat that brought out the scents of his honey-and-lavender perfumed soap. Then, with hungry and icy blue irises, he gazed at the other’s body, deliciously spread over the black sheets and furs as a mouthwatering feast - and his pupils goit fixated on the jutting edges of his hipbones, sheathed by a thin veil of milky skin.

  
With a mischievous grin he licked the pointy edges of Mairon’s hips, burnt fingers digging in the flashier sides to keep him from thrusting upwards and pinning him to the mattress with bruising force.

  
A breathy and deep sigh filled the spicy and warm air of their chamber as Mairon’s leaking cock twitched against Melkor’s chin.

  
At that response, the Vala kept paying attention to Mairon’s hips, nibbling and open-mouthedly kissing the goosebumps-covered flesh. He didn’t stop until purplish bruises and bloody love bites mottled the creamy and satiny perfection of that skin, finally bearing his mark “So gorgeous” he praised, knowing well how much his Maia adored compliments “Perfection”


	48. angbang (fluff)

Mairon was used to impromptu sessions of snogging: Melkor liked to kiss him and always made sure to swathe him with loads of affection - he wasn’t big on physical displays of affection but Mairon enjoyed feeling cherished and didn’t complain. Much.

  
“Stop squirming away” Melkor grumbled in his ear, tightening his grip around his waist so that there wasn’t a sliver of space inbetween his chest and the Maia’s straight back.

  
Mairon sighed but didn’t put down his quill even as the Vala licked the shell of his pointed ear before nibbling at its edge, laving the pearls studded through the cartilage with his warm tongue “I’m working” he pointed out rather uselessly and shivered as Melkor’s mouth worked its way down the side of his face, lips lovingly brushing against his cheekbone and working at the tender juncture where his jaw met his neck to wring as much pleasure as possible.

  
“No, you’re not” the Vala replied cheekily as he stole Mairon’s quill and latched on the pulse point thrumming powerfully and hotly under his pale skin, tasting the clean and slightly bitter tang of soap. He sucked slowly, carefully pulling the blood to the surface where it would undoubtedly blossom in a purplish bruise that staked his claim.  
Mairon purred lowly in his throat and lolled his head to the side, baring more of his flesh as he felt Melkor’s teeth bite down on his skin and his clever tongue swiping broad paths along his tendon.

  
At that gesture, Melkor grinned smugly and let his scalding breath ghost against the mottled expanse of skin, revelling in the goosebumps that broke on its surface. With a last fond nuzzle, Melkor abandoned Mairon’s side of his neck and ducked under his pointy chin to work at the bobbing Adam apple and the silky hollow of his throat.

  
Mairon’s hands came up of their own volition to cup Melkor’s jaw and slide in his gorgeous black hair, blunt and short nails slightly scratching at his scalp “Take me to bed, Mel”

  
The Vala didn’t need him to ask again.


	49. mairon & yavanna (slice of life)

Yavanna briefly glanced at the stars and let a cheerful smile dance above her lips as she admired their shimmering beauty woven in the overwhelming darkness of the sky - in its simplicity, Varda’s work always managed to pleasingly astound her: the sight never looked quite the same - sure, there were the firm and immovable arabesques of the constellations, but it didn’t prevent Yavanna from thinking its beauty wasn’t set in stone and resembled the ever-changing nature of Eru’s creation.

  
Emboldened by her contemplation, she swiftly made her way deeper into her garden; her digits fondly grazed the plants straining towards her and the wild path under her naked feet softened itself to avoid hurting the tender soles, not a thorn dared to catch into her richly embroidered robes and ruin them nor branches tugged at the ruffled nest of dark curls framing her sharply cut features.

  
Her smile softened into a tender curve as her dark irises found the one she had followed into her reign and motherly fondness filled her lungs, making her rib cage feel swelled with love.

  
Starlight liberally poured over perfectly tamed crimson waves that fell around the lithe figure as an impalpable shroud, offering a striking contrast against the impossibly pale skin that glimmered softly in an elegant and unobtrusive way; light and simple charcoal colored robes pooled in artful folds over those long and toned limbs, making them appear frailer and more feminine than they actually were; a haunting song that not even Eru himself would have been able to give life to wafted through the scented and clean air and enchanted every single plant with its melody that subtly changed into a welcoming and warmer tune, advising that her presence had been perceived.

  
Yavanna’s last steps were unhurried and as light as feathers: she didn’t want to make the Maia think she had come with something less than amicable intentions, well aware of their fiery temper. She gracefully sat down next to Mairon, tucking her feet under her thighs in a position she found quite comfortable.

  
Irises simmering like flames turned their intent gaze upon her and seemed intent to study her face for a few seconds “Your skin has purplish highlights in starlight: you look splendid”

  
Yavanna rolled her eyes at the compliment “With my dark skin it’s not me who resembles a fallen star” she replied wittily “Thank you for the compliment, though: it’s nice to know someone thinks I’m remotely attractive” she joked and bumped her shoulder against the other’s.

  
At those words, a huff made Mairon’s lips tremble with barely restrained hilarity “Shut up, everyone thinks you’re gorgerous”

  
Yavanna shrugged and let the point fall, well aware that they would always agree to disagree on the topic - anyway, she hadn’t left the warm cocoon of her blankets to fish for endearing words “You know that he didn’t mean a word of what he said, don’t you?” she inquired, not needing to voice her husband’s name “We love you like a son”

  
Mairon’s back stiffened and his fists clenched so tightly that the blue rivers of his veins were clearly visible under the faintly glimmering veil of his skin - long and black fingers started to draw soothing caresses over the knuckles, offering silent comfort “I.. ” The single syllable fell limply into the still air, an hesitant sound that had died on Mairon’s mouth as soon as it had touched his lips “I don’t know what to think - I want to believe you but..” Another broken sentence, followed by a sharp intake of breath that made his chest tremble with strain against Yavanna’s side.

  
Slowly, her arms folded the Maia into a loose yet warm embrace, leaving him the chance to break it off if it made him uncomfortable: Mairon had never been too big on physical displays of affection, something that had always made him vulnerable to the other Maiar’s acidic words “We’re just worried”

  
“Why?” It was a simple and short question, but one that held all of Mairon’s frustration and pain “Is it because you all consider Melkor twisted? Or is it that you think me unable to stay faithful to myself while associating with him?”

  
Yavanna couldn’t help smiling at the word ‘associating’ “Is it an euphemism for steamy and passionate hours in every alcove you two can spot, right? Because that’s the only kind of associating I’ve been witnessing these past few months” She let out a light giggle, trying to alleviate the cloudy mood weighting down upon Mairon “By the way, we don’t think he’ll twist you and, personally, I’ve never regarded Melkor as evil - misguided? Oh yes, but definitely not a monster” She knew her opinion wasn’t popular - even Manwë was starting to loose hope in his own brother.

  
“He acts like an arse but he’s not” Mairon’s pleading words resonated like melancholy notes in the cool breeze that made their hair dance and mingle together in a blend of black and red “He’s so different with me: caring and tender - nothing like the arrogant and annoying Vala prancing about Valinor with the only intent to piss people off” At those words a fond smirk blossomed on his mouth, transforming the overwhelming perfection of his face in a more human handsomeness that made him seem more approachable.

  
“Well, you can’t blame parents for worrying”

  
“You’re not my parents, though”

  
Yavanna swatted him over the head and playfully glared “I mightn’t have given birth to your impertinent and vain self but you’re my son in all the ways that count”

  
Mairon laughed and pressed a rare and barely there kiss on her silky cheek “Apologies”

  
“Forgiven” Yavanna sighed and tightened her hug “I love you, Little Flame, and so does your father” She kissed his smooth forehead “Just, please, stop snogging where Aulë can stumble on you” The scene on which she had happened with her husband, and that had caused an irate argument between the two people she loved the most in the whole creation, was still seared behind her eyelids.

  
Mairon’s skin had been decorated with sensual swirls of molten gold that had made his pale skin flush with its scalding heat; chains, diamonds, pearls and necklaces had been draped on his body and waved through his hair,  making him look like a blasphemous offering to a nonexistent deity; more precious stones and rings had been pierced through his flesh and thin trails of blood mixed up with the gold also painting his lips parted open in a drawn-out moan. Above him, dark and powerful as an approaching lightening storm,  Melkor slowly thrust in and out of his body, tenderly holding to the other’s jutting hipbones and letting a waterfall of loving words rush out of his throat. Together, they had looked ethereal and otherworldly - even while swearwords bruised their vocal chords as they languidly spasmed and writhed towards their peaks.

  
“Alright” Mairon promised “So,  do you think father will let me back in the forge sometime during this Age?”

  
“By lunchtime at latest you’ll be bent over your workbench, don’t worry”


	50. angbang (slice of life)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANXIETY

Melkor quietly observed Mairon huff deeply and blow a wayward strand of coppery hair out of his face, creased with useless worry and tiredness; his nervousness showed in the manic way he rubbed the pads of his fingers against the fine fabric of his green robe, carefully following the golden arabesque of embroideries, and in the frequency with which he licked his bottom lip - he couldn’t stand seeing his Lieutenant quietly suffering like that and slowly made his way to the pristine desk. 

  
Mairon didn’t look up at him - whether because he’d rather ignore him or had genuinely not heard his steps, Melkor did know - and kept scribbling on a piece of parchment while glancing at an ancient-looking book. 

  
As he neared the Maia, he could hear a soft muttering that made worry bubble uncomfortably in Melkor’s lungs, making breathing more difficult and unpleasant: it didn’t bode well when Mairon started arguing with the vicious voices in his head “Mai” he whispered, making sure not to startle him.

  
Despite his care, Mairon shook and looked at him with wide and worried fiery irises. He calmed only as he slowly took in the handsome features of his lover bent down on him, shrouded in affection and worry “Mel, how long have you been watching me?” he inquired, closing his right hand in a loose fist so that he could scratch at his palm without the Vala noticing. 

  
Melkor smiled and pressed a kiss on his forehead “Don’t worry about that: I enjoy watching you” he admitted, hoping that the implied praise of his figure would relax Mairon “How about you tell me what is it that is bothering you, Little Flame?” 

  
Mairon bit down on his lip and hid his eyes behind a curtain of fiery curls “I made a mistake” He took a deep breath “A big one” he added while reaching for his parchment “The calculations for the building of Thanogodrim weren’t perfect: what if it will crumble over our heads?” 

  
“Mai, the Thanogodrim has never wavered in the century since its construction: it’s not going to crumble over our heads” he reassured the shaking Maia and tenderly wrapped his strong arms around the other’s slender and lithe frame “Please, don’t make yourself sick over this” he pleaded. 

  
“Aren’t you.. Disappointed?"

  
“Not at all, Little Flame” Melkor hurried to reassure him “You built me something beautiful” He dropped a kiss over those sinfully plump lips and hugged him closer to his chest “You could never disappoint me”


	51. angbang (slice of life)

Melkor studied the lithe figure in front of him with something akin to wonderment “Mairon?” he whispered, surprise coloring his deep and baritonal voice.

  
The Maia cocked his head to the side, straight and crimson hair falling gracefully to frame his handsome features and curling around his narrow hips like a lover’s embrace “Yes?” He arched a perfectly chiseled eyebrow as the affirmation left his plump and rosy lips sounding like a question.

  
The Vala electric blue irises ravaged the sight in front of him, picturing that gorgeous body naked - only blanketed with a sheer veil of sweat and a blindfold - and thin wrists encased in a wonderfully wrought pair of golden handcuffs “I didn’t recognize you without the handcuffs” he admitted: the other night at the party, Melkor had been so drunk he had barely been able to understand in which hole to stuck his prick and his attention had been completely commandeered by the glinting of the gold keeping this hands in a praying position above his lover’s head.

  
Mairon smiled sweetly “Well, you should make it up to me then?” he proposed, slowly licking his bottom lip - not knowing how he had sealed Arda’s fate with that sinful proposition.


	52. mairon (character study)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mairon went through a lot of heartbreak

Sometimes Sauron would taste the acrid tang of ashes and melting silver mixed with seawater on his tongue and he would grimace, disgusted and haunted by the tsunami that had swallowed Númenor so easily; shivers would ripple like a gangrene under his thin and transparent skin, making the vulnerable veins and tendons stand out horrifically; fires would sprout from his flesh like a defense mechanism as his eyes clouded and all he could see was a great monstrous wave fall upon him, roaring hoarsely  and casting a great shadow on the island in a manner that had reminded him of Glaurung.

  
Sometimes Sauron would longingly look at the veiled mirror in his chamber and clenched his fists, vainly trying to quench the itching in his digits; a roaring bonfire would clog his throat closed as he watched the horrible creature reflected on the silvery surface he once had loved to look upon, when still the name Mairon was a tribute to his otherworldly beauty; words of hate and anathemas would fly out of his mouth, the rough and broken sounds of Black Speech scorching his vocal chords.

  
Sometimes Sauron would cry, hidden behind veils or armors and nobody would ever know; he would grit his teeth to keep the anguished moans of grief escaping in half-chocked sobs from his lungs and strangle himself with his own control; he would sit as straight as a rod and admire the empire he had built from soot and ashes, reminder of the multitude of reasons why he still existed and wouldn’t let himself be extirpated like a festering cancer.

  
Sometimes Sauron would drown in memories: Eru’s blindingly burning light during the creation of the world overshadowed by the quietly gathering cloud of darkness that sang the most enthralling and prohibited melody; the exact shade of red his hair had looked like  when splayed against snow, creating the illusion his boiling blood was pouring out of his vessel of flesh after he had fallen and cracked his skull open; the secret tenderness of the smile Melkor would only show to him in the depths of hidden caves and forgotten clearings in the forest; the exhilarating experience of letting his true colors show, entwining his essence to the Mighty Arising’s and revelling in the promise of belonging and order it brought.

  
Never Sauron would look back at the cripple he had become and regret having followed Melkor to Middle Earth - never would his devoted love waver, not even when he recalled how his lover had abandoned him for a senseless quest after the Silmarils and brought destruction upon them.


	53. angbang (pre-slash)

“oh, fuck!” a melodious voice muttered.  
At those words Melkor frowned and quietly walked deeper into the forges, hellbent on reaching the source of that voice: nobody was supposed to be in the forges that late at night - not Aulë himself and, certainly, neither his Maiar.

  
With keen eyes and shrouded in darkness, he explored the workplaces until he arrived in the back at an unnaturally clean workbench so near to the fires, that the flames seemed to lick its edges. And just underneath it, there was a Maia on all fours, groping for something in the thick darkness.

  
“What are you doing here?” he asked with his booming and baritonal voice.

  
Evidently scared by the unexpected words, the Maia hit their head against the table and cursed loudly while turning around to look at him - still on his knees and his arse in the air. As soon as fiery irises spotted him, the Maia’s red hair burst into flames and an endearing blush blossomed over his sweat-veiled face “M-my Lord. How can I help you?” he whispered.

  
Melkor smirked at the display of shyness - instead of finding it annoying, he was strangely endeared by the beautiful Maia “I was just looking around” he replied “but maybe you need some help?” he inquired, grinning down at him “You seem to have lost something…? ” He left the sentence hanging, waiting for the Maia to fill the gap with his name.

  
“Mairon, my Lord” he murmured and held up a ring “And I have already found my lost item”

  
“Admirable indeed” he commented with a bright smile “Why don’t you give me a tour?”


	54. angbang (light angst)

Melkor entered Mairon’s chambers quietly, trying to avoid making loud noises even if he knew the Maia’s sensitive pointy ears had already picked up his muffled steps and the whispering of his cloak against the cold pavement - still, he kept scribbling on a spare bit of parchment and ignored him, shoulders hunched and crimson hair spilled over his face. 

  
Melkor hesitantly touched his back between those sharp shoulderblades, flinching when he felt the lean muscles become rigid. His fingertips tenderly caressed the black cloth of Mairon’s strangely somber robe and frowned when he felt its rough texture, so different from anything his Little Flame have ever worn - even when in Aulë’s forges his garments had been soft and silky.

  
The Vala sighed deeply “Beloved” he exhaled, just one word that prompted Mairon to turn around and acknowledge him with his irises simmering like a low fire, the fan of his lashes fluttering slightly “Talk to me” he pleaded.

  
Mairon blinked “What can I do for you my Lord?” His voice as empty as a grave, resonating of mourning.

  
“I’m not your Lord - nor your Master”

  
Silence resonated between them as they stared at each other, eyes locked together in a mute conversation.

  
Carefully, he leaned in and kissed those tensed lips. With every swipe of his tongue and fond nip, Melkor begged for forgiveness, for a response, for Mairon to tell him he still loved him, for reassurance - for everything to be alright again.

  
And the Maia answered with his usual warmth and a desperation so loud the room was brimming with it “Don’t let them take you away from me again” he hissed “Don’t you ever let yourself be parted from me”

  
The kiss turned hot and biting and dripping with a gross mix of saliva and blood, while they reassured themselves of the other presence.


	55. silverfisting (h/c)

Sometimes, Tyelpe would intently stare at Annatar, pupils trying to track and pin down that vague ghost hovering behind the smith’s handsome features: it was a subtly foggy impression of a visage, sharper and crueller than Annatar’s with a strained smirk smattered over those almost never visible lips - a visage that could have passed for Annatar’s otherworldly beautiful twin, if one ignored the red hair of that evanescent spectre.

  
Celebrimbor was ashamed to admit he had often been caught in his obsessed study, but he couldn’t stop doing so: something, a twisted sadness, called him whenever he spotted that strange doppelganger.

  
“Speak your mind, Tyelpe” Annatar prompted warmly, an amused expression settled over his face - a beautifully fake mask.

  
The elf flushed scarlet but he didn’t look away, too entranced in the mystery the creature he loved offered him every day “Why are you always so sad?” he braved asking, concern coating his words.

  
Annatar frowned briefly, the redheaded impression behind him twisted his mouth in a grieving grimace “I’m not.. Sad” Hesitance clouding his voice “I’m also not over-bubbly happy” he added, meaningfully glancing at Celebrimbor. 

  
“You’re hunted” 

  
Annatar shrugged carelessly, a lock of honey-hued hair falling over his face “Maybe I am” he admitted “Not that I’m keeping it secret”

  
“Let me free you” Celebrimbor pleaded, getting up and confidently striding to the one he loved looking down at him and his resplendent face; absentmindedly, he noticed that the ghost was taller than Annatar - almost as tall as him - but more delicate looking. With a sigh he bent down to sample those lips and was glad to find them as pliant as he had imagined “Let me heal you”

  
Annatar nibbled on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the voices in the back of his mind shouting abuse at him: he still remembered the one his heart belonged to, they needn’t have worried so much since they flooded his mind with memories of the Mighty Arising “You can’t, Tyelpe: I’m broken. But.. Make me forget, please - even for a few seconds make me forget him”


	56. silverfisting (nsfw, angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TORTURE AND DUBCON

Celebrimbor slowly came to, blinking his eyes in order to focus his sight while his brain sluggishly asked himself why he seemed to be tied down to in an horizontal position and he idly tugged at his restrained wrists, slowly noticing that his body’s responses didn’t seem to be right. He tried to frown but also his facial muscles were out of control and stayed slack after twitching rather disturbingly. A choked whine left his throat, scratching painfully at his vocal chords and prompting some dry heaving.

  
A chuckle resonated abnormally loud and Annatar’s face appeared above him, blocking out the light to peer down at him with amused caramel-hued irises that sported a strangely slotted pupil “Wakey wakey” he sing-songed with an unnerving lilt in his voice.

  
Tyelpe valiantly attempted at clearing his throat and almost fainted when a new wave of heaving cut his air ways off “I’m not high” he sentenced, but it sounded like a question.

  
At those words, Annatar outright laughed at him, throwing his head back and exposing his throat on which danced the satiny light of the braziers “If you say so” he conceded in a mocking tone, an evil smirk splattered all over the same plush mouth that had tenderly and sensually kisses him ‘till a few hours before.

  
“Untie me” he pleaded while trying to keep his tears from falling: out of control, the salty water burned down his cheekbones. His chest heaved in a vain attempt at catching his breath: the air set his lungs on fire.  
Annatar tutted and shook his head “With the state you’re in, if not properly restrained, you’ll end up hurting yourself” he reasonably explained and bent down to lick at a tear track, the point of his tongue raspy against his skin.

  
Celebrimbor didn’t know when being tied down had started to sound reasonable.

  
The room seemed to melt, messily imploding on itself while the colors fled out their rightful places, bleeding and blurring into each other ‘till the only reality he could discern was a vaguely bubbly and muddy brown. Only Annatar was resplendent in the middle of that murky darkness: his tanned skin shone like pure gold and his honey-colored tresses resembled fine shiny silk, his smile burned with the force of thousands sun’s and blinded Tyelpe, who helplessly blinked and struggled, uncaring of the ropes cutting into his flesh.

  
Steadily, the brightness spread to the rest of the smith’s body and Celebrimbor panicked when he realized that Annatar was actually self-combusting, turning into a flame.

  
Annatar laughed and run his hands down his body - and when had Tyelpe ended up naked? - and carelessly scorched his skin, burning the flesh to the bone.

  
Celebrimbor’s eyes widened in shock before the bloodcurdling screaming started, but he was soon gagged when a fiery tongue was forced into his mouth and consumed him.  
His last panicked thought was to try and make Annatar remember that they loved each other.

  
Then, he blacked out, the back of his eyelids burning orange from his cruel lover’s light.  
The following day he would wake up without a mark on his skin, cuddled to Annatar’s side and his memory wiped completely clean: only a vague sense of uneasiness remained to churn in his gut.


	57. silverfisting (crack)

Annatar was recuparating his energies after a vigorous bout of sex, basking in the warmth radiating from his bedmate and the ruined sheets, vague thoughts fluttering throughout his mind in a lazy and vaguely hypnotic dance that was driving him to sleep. His eyes were slowly drooping closed, his features slackening in relaxation and his body weighing down the mattress, muscles completely freed from the day’s tension.

  
Crunch.

  
The sudden noise startled him and he turned around to glare at Tyelpe, artfully slumped on the bed next to him: he didn’t need words to made his displeasure known.

  
The elf smiled sheepishly and offered him a triangular-shaped, golden… thing “Sorry. Do you want some nachos?”

  
His irritation momentarily forgotten, Annatar took the nachos thing with his fingertips and studied it with barely hidden curiosity “What is it?” he inquired, fingering its rough surface and sniffing at it, still trying to decide whether he wanted to introduce such a thing in his mouth: it didn’t look particularly good - definetly not as good as fried elven brains.

  
Celebrimbor shoved another golden triangle in his mouth and munched loudly “A kind of fried and salted flatbread. Nachos” He shrugged as if it had been pretty obvious “Have you never had some?”

  
Annatar shook his head and struck out his tongue to quickly lick at it: it was… salty, not completely bad. Encouraged by the messages his tastebuds had sent him, he bit the the nacho - he was a neat eater. 

  
Crunch.

  
Oh, Eru! It was good! Without wasting much time he ate also the other half, ignoring the crumbles he would scowl at later when they prickled his naked skin from amidst the sheets.

  
With a knowing grin, Tyelpe put the bowl between them and had a hard time restraining himself from laughing outright at Annatar - ethereal, somewhat stuck-up and refined Annatar - diving for the nachos as he was starving “Good, heh? With the toppings are even better”

  
Annatar looked up at Tyelpe with a dangerous glint in his caramel-colored irises “We have much to discuss, my dear”

  
Celebrimbor gulped down and shoved another handful of nachos in his mouth: he had created a monster.


	58. mairon/gothmog (nsfw)

Gothmog frowned heavily at the sight of Mairon inebriatedly dancing on a table, stumbling over plates and glasses, overtoppling them and making an absolute mess of himself. Orcs and Balrogs alike clapped and whistled, some sang an absolutely obscene song about defiling elven corpses that made the enslaved elves tremble with terror and disgust as horrific pictures were brought at the forefront of their minds: nobody seemed inclined to stop the gorgerous Maia and his destructive fun - it made Gothmog angry.  
Mairon had started drinking and acting careless since the Valar had managed to imprison Melkor in the Halls of Mandos, grieving in the only way he knew how to. He didn’t want to think, to remember his lover’s warm hugs and his solid and comforting presence in their bed; during the daytime he overworked himself, plotting his terrible revenge, while in the evenings he drank himself into a stupor and descended upon the dungeons to spill blood and tears from his prisoners until he collapsed on the filthy and slimy floors, completely exhausted.  
Gothmog knew that everyone let him go on with that destructive behavior because they genuinely thought their new Master was just relieving some stress, his grief already chewed up and spat out - they did care about the Lieutenant of Angband who, despite his not-so-nice character, was well-liked among his army. He was the only one who Mairon had ever let close enough to correctly read the signs of his behavior - him and Thuringwethil. And his wolves, but they couldn’t do much to dissuade him from drinking and frying his brain with work: they could just sniff that something was wrong and cuddle him in a bed that was simply too big for him alone.

  
With confident strides, he marched up to the table, making sure to don a no-nonsense expression on his face “My Lord, could you come down?” he politely asked, forcing the title to roll down his tongue; despite the fact that everyone in Angband knew of their friendship, in public he was required to use the proper title for his best friend and keep displays of affection to a bare minimum - it had been like that also with Melkor and only Eru knew how many times veryone had walked in on them having sex.

  
Mairon immediately picked up his voice with his sensitive pointy ears and turned his head to look down at him, a bright and toothy smile on his stained lips “Catch meee!” he shouted before jumping down the table, straight into the Balrog’s arms ready to soften his landing. He giggled stupidly, blowing his hair in complete disarray from his face and wrinkling his nose when some strands tickled it unpleasantly “Gothmog” he attempted whispering in a hurried voice that was in complete contrast with the glee etched on his sharp features “I cannot find my pants” he confessed.

  
At those words Gothmog sighed and tightened his hold on his intoxicated friend, snuggling him closer to his broad chest and rearranging his long legs in a more comfortable position, making him look like a child with his small and delicate frame “You’ve got them on” he reassured Mairon, briefly cupping his bottom to make him understand he wasn’t going around the fortress bare-arsed.

  
A puzzled expression blossomed on Mairon’s face and he blinked owlishly up at his best friend “Oh” he exhaled, nervously licking his moist lips “I don’t want them on” he declared, tugging with barely functioning fingers at his trousers waistband.

  
The Balrog hummed and started walking towards Mairon’s room, the one he had commandered after Melkor’s capture “Let’s get you to bed and make them disappear, hm?”

Mairon nodded and buried his head in his chest, eyes closed and breathing slow as if he had fallen asleep: only the half-mumbled lyrics of a long-forgotten song pointed at his being awake. 

  
They entered the room in silence and Gothmog gently lowered his burden on the bed, who was immediately snatched by a grey-furred wolf that proceeded to make sure his master was alright. The sight of Mairon tiredly scratching the wolf’s ear and trying to get away from its affectionate licks, made Gothmog smile sadly as he started to unclasp his friend’s boots. Slowly, he undressed the Maia, coaxing the uncooperative limbs out the appropriate holes while mentally cursing Mairon’s complicated garments. He was ready to drop an affectionate kiss on his forehead and go to do some rounds around Angband, making sure that the festivities hadn’t gotten out of control, when an elegant hand tugged at his wrist.

  
“Don’t go” Mairon whined “’m so alone” He didn’t want to be alone, not when he could already feel Irmo playing games with his oniric landscape, probably concoting some terrific nightmare to ruin his much needed rest.

  
Gothmog shooed away the wolf and climbed on the bed, arms immediately encircling Mairon’s narrow hipbones and burying his face in those honey-and-lavander scented hair “Sleep now”

  
“Don’t wanna” Mairon complained and rubbed himself against the Balrog’s warm body, searching for a different type of comfort.

  
Quickly catching up with his friend’s frame of mind Gothmog bent down to kiss those lips, savoring the wine he had so freely abused of “Are you sure?” It wasn’t like they never had had sex - they had always been friends with benefits even when Melkor was around, often engaging in a spectacular threesome - but it felt somewhat wrong to bed Mairon when he was in such an altered state.

  
“Please” Nails were buried in the Balrog’s shoulder as Mairon clung to him with all his strenght, pleading him to go on with his whole body.

  
Quietly, Gothmog rearranged their limbs so that they were spooning, Mairon protectively cocooned in his broader frame and his head pillowed on one of his muscled arms. With his free hand, fingers lubed with saliva, he searched for his tight opening and caressed the rim repeatedly, waiting for the tension to uncoil: it had been a while since Mairon had had sex and he didn’t want to unnecessarily hurt him - they weren’t in a hurry. He firstly slipped a digit, working it in slowly ‘till Mairon’s back trembled against his chest before adding another and scissoring them; inching deeper, he brushed Mairon’s prostrate and kissed his sweaty nape when he keened lowly, silently promising that the preparation would be over soon. When the Maia started to undulate back on his fingers, Gothmog removed them and patted his bottom, signalling him to raise his leg and expose himself while he fisted his own erection and efficiently spread his pre-cum all over his lenght.

  
Before he entered, Mairon turned his head in a silent request of a kiss that was immediately granted; their tongues entwined slowly and tenderly, stroking one against the other in a delicious and simmering friction while Gothmog enetered Mairon with unusual but appreciated care.

  
They rocked together, panting and moaning lowly, building up to their orgasms in a way that was nothing like the fast and hard fucking they were used to. Mairon came first when Gothmog expertly tweaked a nipple and tugged at the golden ring pierced through it, a relieved sob escaping from his throat. The Balrog followed quickly when the clenching of the Maia’s muscles became too much to bear. They fell asleep together, basking in the other’s presence.

  
That night, Mairon’s sleep was blissfully dreamless.


	59. mairon/gothmog (slightly nsfw)

Gothmog groaned lowly when his best friend dropped his robe to the ground without ceremonies and revealed his amazingly toned body, unashamed of standing at the edge of the pool in the nude - and should he have felt differently? The Lieutenant of Angband was gorgeous, a perfectly forged work of art, and he was well-aware of it.

  
He hungrily observed how he languorously stretched his muscles, stiff from a day spent bent over some useless paperwork, before testing the temperature of the water with a surprisingly small and foot. A sigh rippled through him as he felt its scalding hotness and a smile slowly blossomed on his tired features, making him glow like pure gold.

  
The Balrog snorted “Come in” he prompted, completely amused by his friend’s decadent reaction to something so simple as the temperature of their bath “Or it will turn cold” he added as an incentive, playing on the Maia’s dislike of the cold.

  
Without wasting more time, Mairon gracefully slipped in and immediately submerged his head, disappearing under a thick and heavily scented froth. He reemerged with squinted eyes, trying to keep the soap out of his eyes, and a slack and relaxed grin on his face “Finally” he sighed, blindly groping for Gothmog and swimming to his side when he found him.

  
Helpfully, the Balrog got rid of the froth with a swipe of his large hand and Mairon opened his beautifully burning irises “Tired?” he inquired, taking in the lines of exhaustion marring the pallid perfection of his face with some concern: sometimes, the Maia couldn’t help pushing himself too hard, no matter how many times he and their Master reminded him to take care of his health - he would only listen to Thuringwethil’s enraged screeching.

  
“Don’t worry” Mairon smiled and cuddled closer to his friend, basking in the reassuring warmth of his presence “Mmh call for something to drink”

  
Gothmog didn’t waste breath reminding Mairon that he was the Lieutenant and gestured to an elf standing in a corner for some wine. The disgusting creature squeaked and hastily scuttled to find something suitable to drink, fear churning at his gut “Done”

  
Mairon purred contentedly and kissed his collarbone “You’re so good to me”  
Gothmog laughed and dropped a kiss on his friend’s hair before dumping a dollop of cleansing gel on it and massaging it into his scalp, making sure not to tangle those fiery strands, while they waited for the refreshments.

  
As soon as the elf came back with a dusty bottle of wine, sign of it’s aging, Mairon snatched it, ignoring the glasses and drinking straight from the bottle in a way that made Gothmog cringe: sometimes his friend truly had no finesse to speak of - but he kept quiet and let Mairon do as he pleased: one of the cardinal laws to get along with him.

  
Soon, half of the wine was gone and Mairon felt uncomfortably fuzzy: even if he didn’t need to eat to survive, it surely helped to better handle alcohol - and he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something substantial. Still, he kept drinking, enjoying the heavy and flavorful tang of the wine on his tongue while his stomach churned and rolled, burrowing deeper into Gothmog’s embrace and relishing in the tender and sensual caresses bestowed upon him.

  
Humming contentedly, the Balrog slipped his hands in the crux of Mairon’s toned thighs and slowly manipulated his cock into hardness, swiping his thumbs on its tip and teasing the foreskin into retreating while he petted the slightly furrowed sling of his sac, careful of not hurting him.

  
Mairon let his long legs fall open and dropped his head on his friend’s shoulder, turning it around to lavish wine-stained kisses on his taurine neck and thrusting his backside against Gothmog’s impressive hardness, weighing deliciously at the small of his back. Carelessly, he took another generous swig from the bottle and hastily gulped it down when the Balrog’s digits travelled to his hole and traced its rim, slowly coaxing it into relaxing in order to permit an easier penetration “Mmh yes” he moaned lowly.

  
Reassured by his words, Gothmog started fingering him, frowning at the amount of wine Mairon imbibed with every sip “Are you sure you’re okay?” He really didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a nasty fight between Mairon and Melkor: once in a lifetime was enough.

  
“Yes” the Maia slurred slightly, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach “Don’t wait for Mel” Despite Melkor’s possessiveness, he didn’t really mind him fucking with Gothmog - mostly because he usually was included in their fun and because he knew the feelings they had towards each other were purely platonic.

  
“You don’t seem to be too well” he observed “Give me the wine, Mai” be ordered when Mairon drunk some more and his arm jerked out of control.

  
“No” Mairon whined and tried to keep the bottle out of the other’s reach but ended up almost drowning himself. The fast movement made the nausea worse and, in a matter of seconds, he was throwing up on the edge of the pool “Kill me now… ” he groaned, clinging to Gothmog.

  
The Balrog sighed and scooped his friend up in his arms, nodding at the elf to clean the mess up, sex completely forgotten “I’m so telling Melkor you made yourself sick”


	60. angbang (pre-slash)

Melkor hated the parties Manwë obliged him to attend: they were pointless festivities, wastes of time - he let himself be convinced only because of the alcohol and because, if he was extremely lucky, he found someone interested in.. A more mature type of fun.  
With his icy blue eyes he the celebrating crowd, in search of a suitable companion to escape the party and have some real fun with while making sure his brother wasn’t in sight: he didn’t need his plans to be trifled with from the beginning.

  
He was eyeing a pretty Maia, who had apparently decided that dancing without his robe was better, when someone stumbled into his side and let out a drunken giggle. He looked down at the Maia and the first thing he saw was a wild mane of crimson hair that glowed vaguely orange in the light of the bonfires “Are you okay?”

  
After some lolling, the Maia managed to raise his head and hiccuped right in his face, a bright smile on wine-stained lips “Hic-you’re kinna cute” he slurred, squinting burning irises to better focus on him.

  
Melkor wrinkled his nose at being called ‘cute’- he was gorgeous, handsome, hot as fuck - but he was soon distracted by the Maia almost falling in a heap at his feet; with a muscled arm, he kept him upright “Are you okay?” he repeated, peering down at that sharp and beautiful features with some concern.

  
The Maia nodded enthusiastically and outright laughed at his preoccupied inquires while clutching at his arm as if it was the only thing able to keep him standing “I like you, Mighty Aris-hic-ng” he proclaimed, not-so-subtly rubbing his lithe body against him like an overgrown cat - he even purred lowly in the back of his exposed throat.

  
A reluctant smile blossomed on the Vala’s mouth “And you are..?”

  
The Maia kissed his neck “Mairon” he answered, exaggeratedly rolling the ‘r’ in his name “’m so tireeed” he whined, hiding his face in the collar of his robes.

  
Melkor inhaled the unusual scents of lavender and honey wafting from those gorgeous hair and tightened his grip around those sharp and swaying hipbones that dug sharply against his thighs, an hand wandering on a firm and pert bottom that made him groan with desire.

  
“Pleeasee, can you -hic- fuck me tomorrow? When I’ll remember it?” Mairon pleaded, smattering apologetic kisses all over the Vala’s collarbones and jaws.

  
Strangely enough, Melkor found himself endeared rather than irritated by the intoxicated Maia “Alright. Let’s take you to bed, hmm?” He never regretted waiting for Mairon to sober up: it had definetly been worth it.

 


	61. angbang (pre-slash)

Melkor hated the parties Manwë obliged him to attend: they were pointless festivities, wastes of time - he let himself be convinced only because of the alcohol and because, if he was extremely lucky, he found someone interested in.. A more mature type of fun.  
With his icy blue eyes he the celebrating crowd, in search of a suitable companion to escape the party and have some real fun with while making sure his brother wasn’t in sight: he didn’t need his plans to be trifled with from the beginning.

  
He was eyeing a pretty Maia, who had apparently decided that dancing without his robe was better, when someone stumbled into his side and let out a drunken giggle. He looked down at the Maia and the first thing he saw was a wild mane of crimson hair that glowed vaguely orange in the light of the bonfires “Are you okay?”

  
After some lolling, the Maia managed to raise his head and hiccuped right in his face, a bright smile on wine-stained lips “Hic-you’re kinna cute” he slurred, squinting burning irises to better focus on him.

  
Melkor wrinkled his nose at being called ‘cute’- he was gorgeous, handsome, hot as fuck - but he was soon distracted by the Maia almost falling in a heap at his feet; with a muscled arm, he kept him upright “Are you okay?” he repeated, peering down at that sharp and beautiful features with some concern.

  
The Maia nodded enthusiastically and outright laughed at his preoccupied inquires while clutching at his arm as if it was the only thing able to keep him standing “I like you, Mighty Aris-hic-ng” he proclaimed, not-so-subtly rubbing his lithe body against him like an overgrown cat - he even purred lowly in the back of his exposed throat.

  
A reluctant smile blossomed on the Vala’s mouth “And you are..?”

  
The Maia kissed his neck “Mairon” he answered, exaggeratedly rolling the ‘r’ in his name “’m so tireeed” he whined, hiding his face in the collar of his robes.

  
Melkor inhaled the unusual scents of lavender and honey wafting from those gorgeous hair and tightened his grip around those sharp and swaying hipbones that dug sharply against his thighs, an hand wandering on a firm and pert bottom that made him groan with desire.

  
“Pleeasee, can you -hic- fuck me tomorrow? When I’ll remember it?” Mairon pleaded, smattering apologetic kisses all over the Vala’s collarbones and jaws.

  
Strangely enough, Melkor found himself endeared rather than irritated by the intoxicated Maia “Alright. Let’s take you to bed, hmm?” He never regretted waiting for Mairon to sober up: it had definetly been worth it.

 


	62. kiliel + thorinduil (slightly nsfw)

Tauriel had always been a light sleeper, it was normal considering that Elves had extremely sensitive ears and needed less rest than other races - and Legolas had been an insidious little prankster who took advantage of the night to enact his dastardly plans; it had taken her a bit to adjust to Kili’s snoring, muttering and talking while he was asleep.

  
She slowly blinked awake, focusing on her surroundings to find the noise that had managed to penetrate the fog of her dreams and drag her into consciousness. Next to her, Kili was strangely silent for his standards and his face was beautifully relaxed - she smiled and kissed his brow before slipping out of their tent to scout the clearing in which they had set camp.

  
Sleepiness still clung to her, obstinate after a long day of wandering through unfamiliar woods with Ada and Thorin bickering behind her about everything, and as she stretched out her limbs she focused on admiring the silvery silhouette of the Moon.

  
Then she heard it: a low-pitched moan followed immediately by swear words in a tongue she had barely begun to get the grasp of. Blood quickly coloured her cheeks and she disappeared again inside of the tent “Kili” she hissed hurriedly, gently caressing his arm “Kili!”

  
Kili harrumphed in his sleep and turned his back on her, his snoring not molesting enough to drown the noises Thranduil - she couldn’t mistake that patronizing voice for anyone else’s - was making while Thorin pleaded for ‘more’ - of what, she really didn’t want to know.

  
“Wake up” she insisted, shaking Kili’s shoulder.

  
“Wanna sleep, Ta-Ta” Kili whined.

  
“Well, we need to get our sleep somewhere else!”

  
Kili heaved a sigh and faced Tauriel “What’s wrong?”

  
“Shut up and listen”

  
Kili was tired, his Uncle hadn’t left alone the damned Elvenking for a second and he had listened to their self righteous squabbling for the whole day, so he did what his love told him to do: he closed his eyes, tuned every familiar and insignificant noise out and focused on anything strange.

  
“Get your back into it, Thranduil!”

  
“You’re the one on your back just waiting for it, Thorin!”

  
“Oh! There!”

  
“Next time you want cock, you’re doing the work”

  
“Mahal’s sake” Kili horrifyingly looked at Tauriel “Are they having sex?!”

  
Tauriel nodded quickly “Please, can we go somewhere else?”

  
“Absolutely yes!”   
  



	63. angbang (fluff)

The idiocy, the loneliness, the burnt hands, the pain… Mairon could endure them all and even more: he had been trained to be a resilient being with a great strenght of will - what he couldn’t stand was Melkor gushing about an Elf and his supposedly superior smithing skills. The same Melkor who had been his first lover and to whom he had pledged his life, devoting every single ounce of energy to please him; the same Melkor he had mourned in the ruined ruins of their empire, believing him lost forever in Valinor; the same Melkor for whom he had twisted his own essence to better serve the great design of a world free of Eru’s despotism.

  
“You should have seen the marvels that came out of his forge” The Vala’s voice dripped with wondrement; it made Mairon’s skin itch rather uncomfortably: rarely Melkor had been so generous with praise towards his craft “You would have loved to work under him”

  
Mairon bristled: the time for him to be a mere apprentice was long gone “You think so?”  
“Absolutely! Have you seen the Silmarils, Mai?” Melkor nodded towards the box in which the blindingly shimmering gems were placed “I know you would have loved to create something like those”

  
Mairon arched an eyebrow but kept quiet, torn between wanting to smack Melkor around, because the stupid bastard deserved it, and fuck him into the mattress until he pleaded for release - maybe he could do both, certainly a bit of painful discipline during sex wouldn’t hurt Melkor.

  
“That’s why I want you to forge a crown with them, so that you can work with something of such greatness” Melkor went on prattling, completely oblivious about his lover’s mounting rage.

  
For his part, Mairon could only think about the nice cockring that he could snap on the bastard’s erection while he was too distracted to pay attention “Come to bed, love” he coaxed with his seducing voice, the one that had enthralled Melkor during a festival in a time so remote that even immortal beings like them could barely remember “I’ve missed you”

  
Melkor sighed heavily “I’ve missed you too, Little Flame. There wasn’t a day during which I didn’t wish for you to be in Valinor with me so that you could learn more”

  
Yes, Mairon swore to himself, someone was going to beg really hard for an orgasm that night.


	64. angbang (au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Priest!mairon with a dash of reincarnation au
> 
> (Idk if it's blasphemous tbh so, look out for that just in case)

Kneeling on the freezing and hard granite floor, Mairon looked up at the man crudely nailed to a wonky cross and blinked at the unrealistic rivulets of blood cascading down his yellowish and unhealthy looking skin: Jesus, which was just a synonym for God - but not really.

  
“Part of a Trinity” he murmured in the cold air, thick with the intoxicating smell of incense; his breath escaped his lips in puffy white clouds that gathered in front of his face like cigarette smoke.

  
“You know, nobody really kneels anymore to pray” an amused voice said, followed by chuckles that echoed in the sacred halls of the cathedral like a murmuring waterfall.

  
“Melkor” Mairon acknowledged curtly in that brisk way of his that often made people whisper about how much of a fastidiously proud and snooty boy he was “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  
“Are you even permitted to utter the word?” Melkor teased, sitting down on the wooden bench close to the young priest prostrated in front of the altar “I was passing by and I decided to come by to say hello to an old friend”

  
Mairon rolled his eyes, a hint of fondness visible in the at the corner of his mouth “Spit it out”

  
“What?”

  
“The real reason why are you here”

  
Melkor sighed heavily and unceremoniously yanked Mairon up to sit next to him, bunching tightly in his fist the black and rough fabric of his robe “You’re so suspicious of the world that it’s depressing”

  
Mairon answered with just a raised eyebrow that eloquently encouraged his friend to stop woolgathering and speak up his mind; it wasn’t that they never talked about inconsequential things, but it was true that after he had decided to enter priesthood, their relationship had been strained.

  
“Fine” Melkor sighed and turned fully to face the other man. As many other times before, he was entranced by Mairon’s pale beauty framed by wild red hair - he had been afraid that he would have to get rid of it once he decided to serve a god that was all promises and no facts. Melkor was still unsure about why Mairon had chosen that path for himself: he had never been particularly religious or devoted “Don’t you ever feel like.. I don’t know that we’re supposed to be so much more than this?”

  
Mairon heaved a weary sigh “If this is again about my decision to become a priest, the argument is getting old and I won’t indulge you anymore” he knew that Melkor didn’t understand, but how could he explain the terrible longing for feeling… Somewhat powerful? The dreams that had been plaguing him, they had been showing him a different version of himself - a beautifully arrogant and confident one that oozed power and a strange kind of bewitching sensuality. And that nightmarish vision had been a priest, standing tall and proud behind an altar of gold and facing a throng of devoted acolytes.

  
“No” Melkor shook his head and reached over to take in his hands one of Mairon’s “I mean… We are supposed to be more than Men”

  
“Meaning?” Mairon incited sceptically.  
Melkor bit down on his lower lip. He didn’t know how he could explain his hunch without seeming completely barking mad; he just knew that he felt squeezed too tight in that body that couldn’t morph and come loose at the seams like he.. remembered “Something else” he sighed in the end.

  
“Powerful”

  
“You’ve felt like that too, haven’t you?” Melkor slid closer, one hand hovering close to Mairon’s face as if attempting to cup his cheek; he had used to do that - to bring their mouths together and kiss the breath away from those lips until Mairon was panting and begging for more - before the red haired man had shackled himself to empty vows.

  
“Yes” Mairon admitted, eyes cast down as if trying to hide himself from the piteous and somewhat accusing gaze of the crucified Christ “I have”

  
Melkor looked around and, after making sure that the church was as empty as a cold and ancient grave, he kissed Mairon; uncaring of the priest gloomy black robes and the white collar strapped tight to his throat, Melkor slipped his tongue in the warm cavity of Mairon’s mouth, tasting of candied violets and the rusty wine he had drunk while celebrating that morning mass.

  
Nothing had ever felt this right.

  
“Stop” Mairon murmured, but still he leaned in for more - his body was acting on autopilot, prompted by muscle memory to kiss the man in front of him “We can’t”

  
“You can’t” Melkor pointed out, grinning brightly as his fingers finally slipped in those red curls; part of his mind was expecting to get burnt, remembering a fantastic past in which Mairon’s hair had been flames that licked up his forearms whenever he buried his hands in it.

  
“Please, not in here”

  
“Where?”

  
“Later at yours” Mairon promised, standing up and nervously fixing his clothes “We need to talk”


	65. nygmobblepot (pre-slash)

Edward had always had the unfortunate gift - if it could be called that, since it brought him more annoyances than benefits - of hyperfocusing on seemingly out of place details; which was great when he was trying to figure out a puzzle or planning a delicate escape when Gordon would happen to manage to interrupt one of his heists, but it was no use when he was confronting his mortal enemy and couldn’t focus on the gun currently pointed at his head because his brain had decided that there were more important things that needed to be taken in consideration and carefully analysed.

  
Such as the fact that, where Oswald had dyed strands of his hair of a bright purple, the roots were showing for the world to see that Oswald was going a bit white at the temples - or silver: Edward would have to be closer than he currently was to ascertain the exact shade that had sprouted amidst the other’s inky hair.

  
Or the way Oswald’s eyeliner was uncharacteristically smudged, as if he had rubbed his eyes in a moment of tiredness or in a fit of nerves - one never knew with certainity when it came to Oswald, so dramatic and violent in expressing all of his emotions.

  
Or the shiny black varnish lacquered over Oswald’s nails, curled around the handle of the gun “Are your nails painted?” Edward blurted out, even as he scolded himself for his appalling lack of brain-to-mouth filter.

  
Oswald blinked in confusion, eyes briefly looking away from the man standing in front of him to glance down at his hand - not that he needed the visual confirmation, since he’d put the nail polish on himself “Yes?”

  
“Uh. Interesting fashion statement” Edward didn’t particularly like it: it made Oswald’s nails seem unclean; maybe, he would have appreciated it more if he had chosen another colour.

  
Like purple - Oswald looked absolutely stunning in purple: it brought out the beautiful absinthe flecks in his sparkling blue irises and flattered Oswald’s pale complexion, making it seem more like porcelain rather than cadaveric.

  
And that’s how you’re supposed to wax poetry about your mortal enemy and betraying former best friend, that you most definitely don’t love, his mirror voice sneered.

  
“It’s nor a statement: I just like it” Oswald pointed out, tightening again his grip on his gun “So, are you going to tell me why you broke into my club?” He’d almost had an heart attack when, coming out of his office to get a much needed drink before delving back into paperwork, he had seen Edward’s lanky frame silhouetted against the bar.

  
Thankfully, Oswald never was unarmed; long past were the days when he would risk going out without a gun or a knife and hope that Luck would benevolently look down at him.  
“I have a business proposal”

  
Which wasn’t that unusual. After being at each other’s throats for months, using the city as their battlefield, their rivalry had settled into quiet animosity that didn’t stand in the way when it came to business or planning mischief that would benefit both of them.

  
Enemies with benefits, Zsasz liked to tease.  
“You know the rules for business proposals”

  
“I have Gordon nipping at my heels” Edward answered smoothly, sliding his hand inside of his jacket to retrieve a small velvet pouch.

  
Oswald sighed - there really was no use arguing now - and holstered his gun, so that he could lean over the bar and retrieve a bottle of wine and two glasses “Show me” Oswald conceded, settling on a bar stool.

  
Edward joined him, taking a sip of the fizzy wine before he opened the satchel and spread on the counter a handful of diamonds “They’re cut in a too distinctive shape for me to sell as they are”

  
“You need me to make them unrecognizable” Oswald deduced, taking one diamond up to study it, expert eyes easily recognising its worth.

  
“And I would appreciate it if you sold them for me” Edward added.

  
“It’s going to cost you a pretty penny”

  
“I’m aware of that, but I trust you to make me a good price”

  
Oswald hummed at that; feelings aside, Edward was a good and steady source of pretty and expensive things that needed to be sold in the dark “I want half of the cut”

  
“Fair” Edward concurred “More wine?”


	66. nygmobblepot (pre-slash)

It wasn’t the fact that he was paralysed that scared Edward: his mind was lucid enough to point out that after months of being trapped in ice, unable to even twitch a finger, his muscles would have at least lost their strength - if not atrophied.

  
No, what scared Edward was the realisation that he was in the hands of an obsessed fangirl who had tied him to the bed.  
He didn’t think his heart had ever beaten that fast - hadn’t Edward had a better knowledge of anatomy, he would have been terrified of his ribcage being smashed open from the inside.

  
Maybe the gory scene would scare Myrtle away.

  
Sure, he had wished for recognition as the Riddler - especially from Oswald but he couldn’t afford thinking about him in that moment, his thoughts would get all jumbled and he needed to stay focused - but he had never stopped to think about the possibility that admiration could be twisted into obsession.

  
Edward watched Myrtle happily move around the room-turned-shrine, her pace almost dizzying after months of absolute and pure stillness; he didn’t remember her - not at all, not even after she gave him such specific coordinates to find her in his memories - but he obviously wasn’t going to tell her that.

  
Edward smiled around a half-grimace, nodding slowly; the stilted movement caused a shower of pinpricks to crawl under his skin - a sensation he would have normally found rather unpleasant, but that he welcomed with relief in that moment: his body was waking up.

  
He’d never been one to stay still - it meant being vulnerable, posing the perfect target for the bullies and his father alike. So, Edward forced himself to move.  
God, but it hurt.

  
And his mind conveniently decided that passing out in the middle of an attemot at curling his pinky was the best course of action.

  
When he woke up, it was only to almost immediately faint again at the sight of the obscenely long needles protruding from his skin.

  
Acupuncture.

  
This time, giving a name to what was happening to him didn’t help much to calm down: Edward’s every single brain cell was horrified that someone would violate his body in such a way while he was unconscious.

  
It was the last straw.

  
Edward faked to agree with Myrtle’s idea, absentmindedly vomiting facts about acupuncture and its medical properties while his eyes frantically scanned the room in search of something…

  
The phone.

  
Edward was reasonably convinced that he could operate it, that wasn’t what made hesitation settle in his bones - the real problem was: who would he call?

  
Not the GCPD, he’d end up in another prison - Arkham, probably. And if there was a place Edward never wanted to visit again, it was Gotham’s prison for the criminally insane.

  
He couldn’t call Barbara either: she had wanted him out of the way as much as Oswald - the only difference being that he had been momentarily useful to her and they had shamelessly exploited each other.

  
Edward didn’t have friends or allies.

  
He only had enemies and one in particular shone amidst them: Oswald.

  
The Penguin would definitely come to his rescue - if only to reclaim his prisoner and show the whole city that nobody escaped from the Penguin’s revenge.

  
It would also put Edward in a tight and risky spot, reduced to begging his former captor to escape the madwoman currently holding hin hostage.

  
Still, if Oswald still had feelings for him - and he must have because Edward couldn’t be the only one still reeling at the thought of him - he could play them in his favour to avoid being put on ice again.

  
He didn’t like the less than favourable odds but he definitely hated being tortured in his sleep.

  
Edward didn’t have to do much except stay awake and await a moment of distraction: despite the fuzziness of his thoughts, Oswald’s phone numbers were easy to retrieve.

  
“Who’s this?”

  
Edward licked his dry lips, hands trembling as if an earthquake was happening in his marrow with the effort of holding the phone up to his ear “Help me” he whispered.

  
“What?”

  
He should have expected the other man to not understand. Edward cleared his throat and pressed the phone closer to his ear “Oswald, it’s Edward. Help me. A woman.. Myrtle Jenkins.. she’s holding me captive”

  
“Where are you?”

  
So business like - it was something about Oswald he had always admired, the way he could shut down his feelings when he needed to be lucid: Edward wouldn’t have been able to do the same, that’s why he tried to avoid wasting his time with them “I don’t know” he answered “I can’t move. Can you find her?”

  
A long second of silence - a full one, his mind had been counting the milliseconds as they passed: one, two, three, four.. twenty.. thirty-one, thirty-two.. fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine..

  
Sixty milliseconds.

  
“I can. See you soon, Ed”

  
He was so relived that he couldn’t even find it in himself the strength to be angry because Oswald wasn’t calling him the Riddler.  
Since coming back to life again, Edward laughed for the first time and his musclesmoved: maybe he wasn’t as lost anymore.


	67. oswald (character study)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ft. Victor Fries and penguins

Oswald didn’t trust Sofia, not even in his weakest moments when he wished nothing more than a friend to confide in, but he had to admit that her advice was sound: he needed something he could find comfort in whenever a break from work was necessary, lest he wished to see his blood pressure rise to unprecedented levels and burst a vein or something.

  
Not chickens, though: the only thing they caused in him, it was a growling stomach and an intense craving for something preferably fried and greasy.

  
Nor children. Sure, teaching the bullied kid how to take his just revenge on his peers - someone had to make sure that the bullying stopped, right? - was satisfying but not exactly what Oswald would consider relaxing.

  
He did like birds, though.

  
And compared to other pets, they were relatively low mantainace.

  
Well, most of them anyway.

  
“Boss, are you sure you want me to turn this room into Little Antarctica?” Fries looked at Oswald with an eyebrow raised in concern: nobody sane would want to have a room in their house completely covered in ice.

  
Admittedly, nobody sane would be cradling a penguin on their knees while the rest of the flock - were four penguins enough to qualify as one? - happily waddled around either.

  
“I’ve already had the little ones kidnapped from the zoo, Victor: they need somewhere cold to stay” Oswald pointed out, petting the huge bird in his lap; he hadn’t quite realised how big penguins could be, but he didn’t exactly mind “It will be just like freezing your quarters, I don’t see why you’re putting up a fuss”

  
 _Because it’s insane_ “I’m just making sure” Victor reassured “You and your… pets will have to get out if you really want me to do this. Unless you want to end up on ice”

  
“No, thank you: that’s Nygma’s number” or would have been if he hadn’t foolishly let the other man go: it seemed that, even stupid, Edward could still cause quite some trouble - but he would make it right, solve the problem as he always did.

  
The penguins really were doing something to calm his nerves.


	68. nygmobblepot + martin (au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The future au I'll die for 
> 
> Italics stand for asl

“Don’t make me laugh” Edward hissed amidst giggles, one hand plastered over his wrapped up sternum “My ribs hurt”

  
 _Mine too!_  Martin signed frantically, taking deep breaths amidst silent bouts of laughter and holding onto his father as they stumbled into the living room.

  
They shouldn’t have bothered to avoid making any noises, they realized when the lights were suddenly turned on and they were faced with a glaring Oswald.

  
“Have you really been sitting in the dark, nursing a glass of wine while you waited for us to come home?” Edward asked and he really didn’t need Martin to stomp on his feet to realise that it wasn’t the smartest question he could have asked. He just was… kind of still high on the pain.

  
_Hello dad._

  
To be honest, Oswald had expected Edward to be the strict and responsible parents between the two of them.

  
He had never been more wrong in his whole life - and that included a slew of bad choices that had led him to become the kingpin of Gotham’s underworld instead of getting a degree and settling down in a nice suburb like his mother had always hoped he would.

  
Once Martin had entered his teen years - by then, any residual coldness and suspicions about Edward joining in their little family had melted away - they resembled more partners in crime, rather than father and son: Edward not only indulged Martin’s rebellious streak, he nurtured it.

  
He took part in it.

  
And instead of dealing with just one particularly stubborn and moody teenager, Oswald had found himself with having to basically mother two of them; only that he hadn’t signed up for his husband to start behaving in such a way and he definitely deserved an award or two - or sainthood - for running their dysfunctional family as well as he did.

  
Oswald put the glass down on the coffee table with a firm thud that put the fear of God in his husband and son and his stomach twisted with satisfaction.

  
Good.

  
Good, at least they knew they had screwed up and he was absolutely furious.  
“Edward Nygma if you have taken our son out on a heist, I swear that I’m calling our lawyer and asking her to draw up divorcing papers”

  
“It’s almost three in the morning”

  
“That’s not a point in your favour!”

  
Martin stomped his father’s foot again and rolled his eyes.  _He didn’t, I promise._

  
“Then how did you two get hurt?!”

  
“Uh.. we’re nor hurt. Not really” Edward sucked on his lower lip and glanced at his son.

  
 _Might as well tell him: it’s not like we can keep it a secret_. Martin shrugged and immediately regretted it, the motion pulling at the tender patch of skin stretched over his lower ribs.

  
Oswald sighed heavily “Come here”

  
And when his husband used that voice - the ‘I’m the goddamned Penguin’ one - Edward knew that there was only one possible course of action: to comply. Dragging his son with him, Edward walked up to the couch and stood in front of Oswald a sheepish grin on his face “Promise to let us explain before shouting at us?

  
"No. Show me”

  
Tentatively, Martin pushed his shirt open.  _We got a tattoo._

  
“Calla lillies”

  
_For you._

  
Oswald blinked hard at the flowers of ink half-hidden by the plastic wrapped around their torso, brain trying to make sense of what he was seeing “You got a tattoo” he repeated absentmindedly before the idea fully sank in and Oswald scowled up at Martin “Didn’t we agree that you should ask permission for this kind of things after you got your lip pierced without telling us?"

  
_I asked father._

  
Oswald arched an eyebrow and pointed at his husband’s chest "He got one too, his word clearly didn’t count”

  
Edward almost complained but then Oswald glared at him and he decided that he’d better keep his mouth shut, before he was relegated to sleep on the couch “You like them, though, don’t you?”

  
 _It’s a sign of our love_.

  
Oswald looked at the tattoos again, admiring the skill - they clearly had gone to a proper parlour, thank God - and smiled against his own volition “It’s sweet, I suppose” he admitted in the end “Come on, let’s go to bed: I’ll yell at you both at breakfast”


	69. thompkean (fluff)

Barbara had always been attracted by the more hidden depths of people, the sides of themselves that they kept hidden in the dark - that they let run free only behind the sacred privacy of thick walls sheltering them from the world, so ready to judge with its sharp and pointed tongue.

  
Well when it had come to Tabitha, the darkness hadn’t exactly been that hidden - quite the contrary, in fact. But it was the exception in her little row of lovers that had just culminated with the beautiful Lee Thompkins; Barbara could see what Jim had been mesmerized by: the other woman was layered and every layer was made out of a different flavour.

  
She never was boring.

  
Or predictable.

  
Lee was always fresh and surprising, even without constantly changing the core qualities of her personality which made her reliable and comforting to be around; Barbara always knew that she could expect vitriol and care coming from the other woman, but she never could guess the ratios or in which forms they would come - or kept her on her toes, alert.

  
Sometimes, Barbara felt a bit like the fox in that little book for children: domesticated without even really being aware of it - not until she realised that breathing became difficult when Lee towered over her, eyes transfixed on the way her lips moved and her whole body buzzing in excitement and trepidation.

  
“First, you come into my club and claim my attention obnoxiously loudly and then, you space out on me” Lee tsked, wrapping her arms around Barbara’s waist to press closer to her, chin hooked over her shoulder in order to leave sticky trails of lipstick on her throat “Everything okay?”

  
Barbara nodded “Yes. Sorry, just tired” stress and poor sleep were the main reasons why she sometimes lost herself in her head - which wasn’t good: her head wasn’t the happiest or safest place to be, even for Barbara herself. She turned her head and kissed Lee’s cheek, breathing in her scent - a mix of alcohol and light sweat and something that Barbara’s nose defintely wasn’t equipped to identify but that immediately soothed her, melting away the tension in her muscles so that she could arch against Lee’s body, almost curling in her frame “Why don’t you thoroughly exhaust me and then let me sleep in your bed?”

  
Part of Lee frowned about the fact that Barbara was trying to distract her with sex and wanted to sit the blonde woman down to have a nice talk, but the other part of her - the darker one that thrived in the Narrows - reminded her that talking wasn’t exactly something they did.

  
They even weren’t in a proper relationship either: they hadn’t bothered putting a label on it because, to be honest, they hadn’t been able to think up one that would fit what they had; it most certainly wasn’t love but it wasn’t all about the sex either, there definitely was some hatred mixed up with the undeniable attraction and care for one another.

Somehow, it worked.

  
So, Lee ignored the worried voice in her brain and slid one hand down Barbara’s soft stomach to tease at the lacy hem of her thong “You’re worse than a spoiled cat - always hogging the bed, uninvited” she punctuated her words with the tapping of her fingertips, inching closer to the thin strip of blond hair that had been waxed perfectly straight; honestly, Lee couldn’t imagine having so much free time - and money - on her hands and spending it just to get a professional waxing.

  
“You like having me in your bed, keeping you warm” Barbara threw her arms back and looped them around Lee’s neck, one hand buried at the base of her skull in her thick and luscious hair and tugged a little, just enough to bring her face closer to ghost their lips together “We both know that otherwise, you would have already kicked me out”

  
True, much to Lee’s chagrin. She leaned in and shattered Barbara’s teasing, kissing the other woman as she wormed one hand in her bra and squeezed her breast, thumbing around the slightly darker areola “Don’t tug at the rope too much: sooner or later, it will snap”

  
Barbara shivered in the other’s touch, ribcage expanding under her hand at every deep inhale “But how much fun will we have before the moment comes?” Barbara murmured against Lee’s mouth but before the woman could answer, she deepened the kiss; she was done talking for the moment, her focus shifting to the way their naked skin felt rubbing together, setting alight every single nerve ending.

  
A plan Lee wholeheartedly supported. She spun Barbara around, walking backwards so that they both fell on the mattress, entwined together.

 


	70. mystrade + johnlock + hannibal (crack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I abuse the quote "nothing here is vegetarian"

Gregory glanced at the body, broken and folded like a pretzel, and felt a green hue spread under his skin.

  
“Don’t get sick over the crime scene, Lestrade” Sherlock drawled, bent down over the corpse, ass in the air - John had to sadly admit that his concentration was split between the way the fabric of the trousers stretched over those buttocks and the gruesome scene his boyfriend was inspecting.

  
“I’m not going to be sick” Gregory squeaked behind his hand, dutifully plastered over his mouth just in case as he backed into Mycroft’s chest.

  
“Of course you’re not” Mycroft murmured, bringing a hand to his husband’s side, gently cupping it in comfort “Now, stop showing off and start deducing”

  
Sherlock snapped up with glee, making his coat twirl dramatically around his tall frame - and prompting an eye roll from everyone “What, is middle age catching up with you? Or are you too lazy to make your braincells work?”

  
“On the contrary, I have probably already deduced more than you have but I’ll never privy you of the joy to show off”

  
“Shame” John chuckled fondly “I was counting on you” he said, winking at Sherlock to appease the pout already blossoming on his lips.

  
“So?” Mycroft prompted, interrupting the moment his brother and the doctor were having - not only because they have him a toothache, but for his husband who was looking greener and greener by the minute: Gregory wasn’t an easily impressionable man, but such deliberate and almost artistic gore got to him.

  
Sherlock huffed, turning up the collar of his coat absentmindedly “The killer..”

  
“Killers” Mycroft immediately corrected, smiling smugly even as Gregory elbowed him in the stomach “Clearly, one of them is still inexperienced: the way that leg has been chopped off of the torso is not as clean as, for example, the way the right hand has been sewed off”

  
Sherlock turned back to glance at the heap of body parts and frowned “Right. The killers…”  
“..are eating the bodies” Mycroft completed the sentence.

  
“Will you shut up?!”

  
“I’m going to be sick” Gregory admitted and took a couple of steps past Mycroft before losing his breakfast on the pavement. He felt his husband rush to his side and the leather of his glove sticking to the cold sweat dampening his forehead. An embroidered handkerchief was dangled in front of his face and Gregory grabbed it, while part of his mind wondered about the ridiculousness of the thing: why would Mycroft offer him that to wipe his mouth?

  
“Let’s go before I get sick too” John slipped his arm in Sherlock’s and started tugging him away from the crime scene.

  
“Go where?” Sherlock frowned but followed his lover instead of stubbornly pointing his feet and wait for a proper explanation: indeed, he had to recognise that John was good for his temper tantrums - as Mycroft had called them.

  
“To that house: the window of the living room looks at the crime scene; judging from the hypothetical time of death and hoping that the inhabitants are not old people, they should have still been in there before going to bed” John explained.

  
Sherlock grinned at that, pride blossoming in his chest “Good, only.. the body was dumped there, but the deed took place somewhere else”

  
“True, but a lot of blood pooled on the pavement so, the body was moved there not long after death occurred” John retorted, hand reaching up to knock on the green door.

  
“Still, they could have been having sex while the killers dumped the body” Sherlock pointed out just as the door was opened.

  
“May I help you?” The young man inquired, nervously fidgeting with his glasses as he moved a leg in front of the muzzle of a curious dog.

  
Sherlock put on his most charming smile - personally John thought it looked like a pained grimace “We’re with the police: we were wondering if you noticed something unusual yesterday night?”

  
Will suspiciously studied the two men in front of him and only the voice of his husband calling from the kitchen shook him out of his reverie, asking him who was at the door “Sorry, no. I went to sleep early, but maybe you’d like to talk with my husband?” he offered, standing slightly to the side in invitation.

  
“That would be appreciated, thank you” John murmured and followed the man inside, taking in with appreciative eyes the clearly expensive and cared for furniture; not unlike Gregory inside of the house he lived in with Mycroft, the fidgety man looked out of place in his plaid shirt and scruffy jeans.

  
Will just smiled at them and entered the state-of-the-art kitchen  “Hannibal, these detectives would like to ask you a few questions”

  
Hannibal turned to look at the unexpected guests, a lazy smile curling his lips “Sure. Please take a seat, we were just having breakfast: omelettes with sausages” he said, emphatically stirring the meat frizzling in oil “Nothing here is vegetarian”


	71. mystrade (fluff)

Mycroft carefully nudged Gregory with his pen, lightly tapping on his shoulder, and looked down at the other man with a look that was a mix of fondness and contempt - he couldn’t exactly help it: who did get drunk and passed out during their lunch break? Surely not seasoned Detective Inspectors “Wake up"

  
Greg let out a huff and squashed his face harder against the solid mahogany surface of Mycroft’s desk, hiding behind his forearm in the vain hope that his husband would let him be “I’m up”

  
“Don’t whine at me, Gregory” Mycroft retorted sternly “Why did you drink so much?” He inquired immediately after, voice softened in concern; between the two of them, he was the one more likely to indulge in hard drinks even during the earlier hours of the day - Gregory usually never really drank anything stronger than beer.

  
And he definitely hadn’t gotten drunk on that - any idiot would have deduced that even without being gifted: after all, one couldn’t exactly mistake the empty decanter on the desk and the smell of scotch wafting up from the glass.

  
Mycroft wrinkled his nose and nudged Gregory again “Bad case?”

  
“Nope” Greg sighed and moved his forearm out of his line of sight to look at Mycroft “Sherlock"

  
“Didn’t I teach you to let what Sherlock says slide off of you?”

  
Greg scowled and hid again, mumbling against the sleeve of his wrinkled shirt; there was a stain that looked suspiciously like spicy mustard and he really hoped that Mycroft didn’t see it or he’d be in for a lecture about eating like a slob - no thanks.  
And anyway, it wasn’t his fault if the sauce seemed hellbent on slipping out of his panini.

  
“I can’t understand a word you’re saying” Mycroft pointed out “What does mustard have to do with Sherlock?”

  
“Talking to myself” Gregory muttered.  
Mycroft sighed and sat up, fingers wrapping around his husband’s shoulders and swiftly pulled him back against the chair, making him sit straight up “You’re in no state to go to work”

  
“FUCK THE POLICE”

  
Mycroft arched an eyebrow “Yes, clearly” he’d have to text Sherlock - or better, pay a visit - and bully his brother into admitting him what he had told Gregory that had upset him in such a way.

  
Later, though: he had a drunk husband to take care of before the meetings of the afternoon started “Come on, dear - let’s get you home” he murmured, bending down to wrap his arms around Gregory in an attempt at persuading him to get up, lips pressed against his temple in a soothing manner “I’ll keep you company on the drive home, alright?”

  
“Mkay” Greg nodded, burying his face in Mycroft’s neck and breathed in the fading scent of his cologne, disappearing under the smell of sweat and smog.

  
“Are you saying that I stink?” Mycroft chuckled, herding Gregory out of his office and into the lift.

  
“Talking to myself again” when he stumbled, Greg reached out with a flailing hand: he hadn’t quite realised how much he had drunk until he’d been put upright “Love ya. Even when you stink”

  
“That’s very nice of you, love”

 


	72. hannigram (pre-slash)

Suddenly, his idea to go and ask Hannibal to host him for a night, didn’t seem particularly clever to Will anymore - not when Hannibal showed him to the master bedroom, enigmatic and fascinating smile plastered all over his face “I’m not sleeping with you” Will pointed out, clearing his throat rather nervously.

  
Hannibal didn’t seem surprised by the statement “I need to keep an eye on you: you’ve told me you sleepwalk, I can hardly prevent you from flinging yourself off of the roof if we’re sleeping in separated bedrooms”

  
The reasoning flowed out of his mouth flawlessly and Will, who still stuttered during lecture and under pressure, hated him for it just a bit “I toss around a lot” he argued weakly “And I sweat”

  
“Sweating it’s a normal bodily function and, as a former surgeon, I’m hardly bothered by it” Hannibal firmly ushered Will inside of the bedroom, hand lodged at the small of his back and his thumb gently drawing slow circles over Will’s tailbone.

  
“Hannibal..” Will squirmed a bit at the touch.  
“What, Will?”

  
“I’m uncomfortable at the idea of sharing a bed” Will admitted in the end, squeezing his eyes shut behind his thick glasses as he blurted the words out.

  
Hannibal made the other man turn, so that they’d be facing, and raised Will’s chin with a thumb “We’ll both be sleeping, Will: there’s nothing to worry about - it’s just me”

  
Just. Will would have never paired such a word with Hannibal but it was true: it was his friend, whom he trusted to keep him safe “Right”

  
Hannibal smiled “The bathroom is over there, behind that door”

  
“I’ll go.. I’ll go to change, then” Will murmured, awkwardly holding up in emphasis his bundle of pyjamas.

  
When he slipped amidst the sheets, a pair of arms wrapped itself around his waist and Will fell asleep - for the first time without trouble.


	73. superbat (au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy omegaverse au

Clark observed curiously as Bruce moved around the Cave, evidently trying to hide that he was nesting from him; he found it curious, but not particularly out of character: if there was a thing that Bruce hated, it was displaying behaviours typical of omegas.  
Apparently, nesting was included in Bruce’s rather long and, if he was to be honest, obnoxious list.

  
Clark tilted his head to the side, watching as Bruce conspicuously looked around before tackling the beds in the med bay; with scaring efficiency, Bruce moved all the blankets and pillows on one of the mattresses, moulding them in a safe and warm looking cocoon large enough for two.

  
When Bruce was done, he started haunting the Cave, absentmindedly moving things without a reason - even of just a couple of millimetres. Other things - knives, batarangs, gloves, a spare cape - somehow all found their way onto the bed on which Bruce had started building the nest for the heat they were going to share.

  
To be honest, even if he couldn’t get hurt by normal blades, Clark wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of suddenly finding a batarang under his back “Love?”

  
“Hmm” Bruce hummed as he tucked the spare cape all around the nest as if he was decorating it with a black ribbon.

  
“Do you really need the weapons?” Clark inquired, making sure his voice was sweet and wondering - it wouldn’t do to irritate Bruce before his heat fully struck “I can protect you, you know that” he said reassuringly, guessing that his mate had stashed weapons in the nest for safety reasons.

  
Without even blinking Bruce answered with a dry ‘yes’ and went on with reorganising the whole Cave before slipping inside of his nest to rub his cheeks and neck over everything, marking the blanket fort with his scent and looking as happy as a kid on Christmas day “Come here, or it won’t smell right”

  
Clark got up from his seat and, after discarding his shows, he slipped in the nest. His arms naturally went around Bruce’s hips, drawing him close to his chest, so that he could mouth at his neck “You’re so cute”

  
Bruce harrumphed and turned around in his arms, fingers going to the annoying buttons of Clark’s shirt “Help me to get you undressed”

  
“But.. you’re not heating yet?”

  
That hesitance in the alpha’s voice, no matter how much he loathed it whenever he wanted Clark to be firmer, it was what had reassured Bruce that Clark was safe to be with - that he’d never reduce him to just a mere omega. So, even if he was questioning his words, Bruce rewarded Clark with a deep kiss for remembering he wasn’t particularly keen on having sex just before his heat “I need your clothes for the nest” he explained.

  
And, as always, Clark obliged.


	74. drarry (au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate first meeting

Draco’s parents weren’t exactly fans of anything Muggle but they did believe that it was clever to be aware of how their world worked, so that they’d be prepared in case of a war between them and the Wizarding World.

  
Know thy enemy and all that rot.

  
Draco didn’t think that Muggles were clever enough to find out about their existence; even when witch trials had been popular, more often than not it was weird Muggles that had been executed - certainly not Wizards and Witches who, in any case, could Disapparate to safety.

  
And even if a war happened, Draco was sure that the Muggles didn’t have any chances changes to actually win.

  
But he didn’t tell any of that to his parents because he was curious and learning new things could be fun - especially when the programmed trip promised a visit to the zoo, which usually also entailed ice creams and a wide array of curious souvenirs from the shop.

  
Draco checked that his parents were still intent on observing the butterflies fluttering their multicoloured wings in the sun - holding hands, yuck - before he disappeared into the darkened Terrarium that lured him in with the promise of snakes and other reptiles being on display.

  
The idea of those beautiful creatures being trapped in prisons of glass admittedly made him a little sad, but he also couldn’t deny the excitement he felt at the opportunity of being able to study them closely; father never let him touch snakes whenever some of his friends came over with one wrapped around their necks and his mother always made sure that they couldn’t wander in the gardens with some sort of repellent spell.

  
Which was also kind of humiliating: he wasn’t a baby that needed protection, he could handle a snake.

  
Wandering from tank to tank, Draco quietly observed snakes and lizards of all dimensions, eyes curiously following their quick movements or studying their bodies while they slumbered. Whenever someone knocked on the glass walls, Draco scowled up at them but he didn’t say anything: his parents had told him that if he ever got lost amidst Muggles, he had to find a policeman who would bring him somewhere they’d be able to easily find him.

  
He wasn’t lost so, he couldn’t say anything to those rude brutes.

  
So, he joined a boy who was looking at some kind of python and who seemed to share his respectful attitude towards the animals on display “Where does it come from?”

  
Harry jumped as a voice - one he didn’t know - distracted him from what the snake was saying “Brasil” he answered, pushing up his glasses as he looked at the other boy and thanking his luck that he apparently hadn’t heard him talk with the snake: his uncle and his aunt wouldn’t be happy if someone witnessed his freakiness.

  
“It must be sad, so far from home” Draco observed, head tilted to the side to watch the slitted pupils following him.

  
“It has never seen its home” Harry said, pointing at the plaque the python had made him notice just a minute ago.

  
Draco studied it, squinting his eyes at the fancy lettering that reminded him of his mother’s handwriting “Still.. It must know that it’s not home”

  
Which was true. Harry wished he could tell the boy, but how could he justify being so sure about it? “What’s your name?”

  
Draco knew that he wasn’t supposed to speak with Muggles but another kid his age what danger could really be? It didn’t occur to him that, for Muggles standards, his name wasn’t exactly normal; he offered the black haired boy his hand with a small smile “Draco. What’s yours?”

  
“Harry”

  
They had gone back to observing the python in on silent companionship when Harry was pushed aside and accidentally knocked them both to the ground. Draco recognised the annoying teens who had been knocking around on the tanks and he glared at them hard - if only gazes could kill..

  
Then the glass suddenly disappeared and Draco panicked: how was it possible? He had been able to keep bursts of accidental magic under control since he was five and he wasn’t supposed to do any magic amidst Muggles.

  
Harry blinked hard at Dudley, screaming from behind the glass: he couldn’t believe it; sure, strange things happened around him but never something so.. weird.

  
He was in so much trouble.

  
Momentarily forgetful of his new friend, Harry jumped to his feet and tried to tell Dudley to calm down, that the snake had slithered away and he was actually safer in the tank.

  
Draco took advantage of that moment of distraction to run out of the terrarium, panicked eyes looking for his father’s long blond hair and his mother’s bright green jacket. When he saw them, Draco hurled himself against his father’s legs, breathing hard as he was picked up by his clearly worried parents.

  
He was done with visits in the Muggle world for a little while.

* * *

Draco was standing bored on the platform as his school robes were adjusted to his body when he saw a familiar face enter the shop: he had already seen those big glasses and unruly black curls somewhere else.. where?

  
“Draco?”

  
Sure, it was Harry! The boy he had met at the zoo “I didn’t know you’re a Wizard!” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed even a small sign.

  
“Me neither” Harry admitted sheepishly, relieved that in this new world he at least already have a friend.

 


End file.
